Requiem
by If There Is Heaven
Summary: Alternate Universe - JENOVA laughed delightedly to herself. They were so easy to manipulate, so ready to be molded by her words and touches...
1. Prologue : Forgotten

Disclaimer: Final Fantasy VII, Advent Children, and Last Order belong to Square Enix. This disclaimer applies to all chapters.

Warnings: OOC, AU, attempts at humor, mature content.

* * *

**Requiem**

Prologue: Forgotten

* * *

The cliffs overlooking the ruins of Midgar played host to a small, private graveyard, the windswept tombstones covered with decaying leaves and surrounded by small splatterings of cropped grass and wild flowers. For the most part, the little sanctuary remained unknown and unvisited amidst the canopy of forests. No one remembered the names adorning the simple headstones dotting the clearing, and certainly no one recalled the achievements these characters had achieved nearly five centuries earlier, during the crisis named "Catastrophe".

The sound of leaves crunching on the ground echoed softly through the otherwise silent mountainside. A man, dressed in a black sleeveless wool turtleneck and some black loose cotton pants, quietly approached the little graveyard, as if the unmarked trail to this forgotten place was well ingrained in his mind. Golden curls, spiking without control on top of the man's head, gently swayed with the winds as he stood watching the tombstones. Gingerly picking his way through the field, he gently brushed away the dust and debris from each of the erected stones, reflecting as the names became visible.

His memories had been blurred by time, and the names barely stirred any emotions or remembrances as he mouthed them to himself. After all, he could only remember this 'Yuffie Kisaragi' as a brunette that he once had traveled with, perhaps even finding her mildly annoying at certain points. That 'Cid Highwind' and this 'Barret Wallace' seemed like people he might have once quarreled with, even if his mind chided him for forgetting their experiences of fighting together. He supposed he had forgotten the significance of the names 'Cait Sith' and 'Reeve Tuesti' quite early on, as did he forget the names of 'Marlene Wallace', 'Denzel', 'Reno', and other names that had been erased by nature faster than he could restore them. He remembered 'Tifa Lockhart' as an affectionate woman, someone he had treasured throughout his life while she had been alive. His heart always lurched with sadness when he read the names 'Aerith Gainsborough' and 'Zachary Fair', though he could never understand the reasons for the behavior. There was always a sense of nostalgia and bitterness, however, when he read the name 'Sephiroth'. He remembered pain and sorrow too, but the details remained rusted and blurred within the deepest regions of his mind.

The name he remembered the most was a 'Vincent Valentine', the man he had killed as the Chaos had broken free. The man who had shared his burdens and his memories, but who had ultimately found part of his salvation when that madman of a scientist had attempted to control the world through his research. He supposed he too had found some form of forgiveness many long years ago, but he continued to feel as if he is still too unworthy to pass on into the purity of the Lifestream.

Soft footfalls alerted him to the presence of another being, one whose gait—measured by the way those paws fell upon the earth—he remembered well even past these years. Standing up, he adjusted his soiled clothing leisurely before turning around to look at his companion, the elderly, red-furred lion named Nanaki. His eyes betrayed nothing, though his intense gaze suggested to the other that the creature explain itself as quickly as possible before he lost interest and fell back to his musings. The lion merely tossed its mane softly to shake off the perspiration gathered during its trek up the mountain and then sat down upon its rump to observe his human companion.

"Cloud," nodded the lion in greeting.

"Red," came the whispered acknowledgement. "It's not quite usual for you to come up here."

"I came to find you," murmured the lion softly, its voice mixed with a pleasant growl as it beckoned for the other to come sit by it. Cloud gently picked his way across the field once again before sitting down by the other, watching with amusement as the elderly creature laid his head with eagerness upon the man's lap. It was expected as always, and Cloud naturally fell into the pattern of stroking the lion's head. A soft smile graced his lips as the lion purred softly in contentment.

"The planet…has been crying again," murmured Nanaki even as its eyes threatened to close themselves in its state of lethargy.

"The weather says otherwise," returned Cloud as he paused briefly.

"I know, but you can feel how tense the air tastes, can you not?" questioned Nanaki.

"I suppose so."

Cloud knew the importance of their roles as the self-proclaimed "Guardians of the Planet", a term, he supposed, he had heard once on the lips of that girl, that 'Aerith Gainsborough'. He and Nanaki had gotten into a debate once about the term, when time had dulled their memories until they could not quite remember their battles or the causes for their struggles during the "Catastrophe".

_/We shall be called the "Guardians of the Planet", Cloud, because I have the ability to hear and interpret the messages of the Planet, and you have the strength and the experience to help me carry out the errands of Mother Gaia./_

They had concluded the discussion with that in mind, and centuries later, the title remained though the meaning became void through the decades of relative peace. He wondered briefly, as he examined the coarse grey hair dotting the lion's torso, how he had managed to maintain his youthful appearance through the years, like how 'Vincent Valentine' had before his death. There was something…something with that man Vincent had defeated all those years ago. Something with those three silver-haired brothers? Was it silver? Cloud furrowed his eyebrows as a throbbing started to make its notice between his eyes.

"Must you constantly live in the past, Cloud?" snorted Nanaki softly as it nuzzled at the man's stilled hand softly. Cloud sent the other an apologetic look as he left his musings.

"So much forgotten already," murmured Cloud in explanation.

"It is unwise, still, to constantly dwell on the past," replied Nanaki as his wise, old eyes glanced up at his companion.

"Hn." Cloud absently restarted stroking the top of the lion's head again. "So, do you at least know what the planet is trying to warn us of?"

"Not particularly. But I thought you should know anyways," purred Nanaki softly.

"Aren't you too old to be displaying such child-like tendencies?" chuckled Cloud as he listened to Nanaki contently purr at his ministrations. Nanaki merely huffed a little and glared up at his companion before immersing himself back in pleasure.

"Never too old for the little joys of life," groused Nanaki. "Having a few grandchildren will certainly tire you out. These moments are pleasant."

The wind's whistling filled the silence between the two warriors until night fell.

* * *

A shock of pain on his left arm woke him up, leaving him panting in a sweat-soaked bed. He sat up slowly, feeling disoriented and nauseous, and blinked away the green fog blurring his eyesight. The cold night air did nothing to soothe his overheated body or dull the stinging pain aching deep into his flesh and bones.

Another shock of pain—almost like he was being stabbed with a rusted knife—left him groaning in bed, making his body twitch and convulse until he was curled in on himself in a fetal position. He felt an odd wave of frigid coldness sweep through his bloodstream before the searing fire returned. He could not comprehend why such pain was flaring up now, of all times, especially since he had not felt these sensations for so many years that he'd nearly forgotten them.

In his haze of pain, he barely saw the emerald strings of light—like strands of mutilated hair—crawl steadily up from the floor of the bedroom towards the walls and the ceiling.

\My…My child…You must…Go back…Give me my rightful…place on this planet…like what _he_ tried…before…\

The weak voice rasping inside of his head sounded vaguely familiar, and his mind hastily equipped him with a short memory of a metallic monstrosity, contained within a tank filled with that glowing green liquid that had not been seen for many centuries. He winced as the first tendril of green light touched his ankle and twisted to escape the tender caress. Something deep inside of his heart lurched and warned him to get away at all costs. Another sharp pain left him temporarily paralyzed. He clutched at his abdomen and bit his lower lip hard enough to bleed. With his eyes clinched shut, he never saw the strings of light grasp his ankle and gently creep up his leg to encompass his entire torso.

Before long, the lights covered his entire body. Opening his eyes, Cloud distinguished a face, etched within the emerald strings, and stilled in fear—the first time he had felt fear in a very long time—as the face descended. A soft kiss was graced on his forehead, and then darkness overcame his mind.

* * *

A/N: Reviews are welcome. I'm actually looking for a beta for the rest of the story. Drop me an e-mail, thanks.


	2. Chapter 1 : Surreal

A/N: I hate formatting documents.

* * *

**Requiem**

Chapter 1: Surreal

* * *

"Did you hear?"

"What?"

"They say President ShinRa is getting a new general!"

"Whoa! What?—"

"Yeah! I know! I couldn't believe it either! We're going to have _two_ generals now! And guess what! They say the new one is only sixteen or something!"

General Sephiroth, pride and glory of the SOLDIER department of the ShinRa Company, ignored the barely concealed whispers and the hastily averted gazes as he passed through the cadet training fields towards the viewing benches. He nodded at his second-in-command, Lieutenant Zack (or "Zachary", as he preferred), before sitting down briskly and stiffly into his designated chair. Zack grinned when he saw the nonplussed expression on the general's normally expressionless face.

"Heard the rumors, eh?" grinned Zack as he leaned back comfortably into his chair.

"They, unfortunately, are not rumors," supplied Sephiroth truthfully as he frowned, watching the training supervisor roar out orders for the scrawny gang of boys to run several laps around the dirt track.

"The general part or the kid general part?" asked Zack curiously as he mentally processed which of the boys would easily be weeded out before the basic training program ended and which ones might have a chance of surviving the SOLDIER entrance examination.

"Both, probably," replied the tall man as he deemed every single one of the cadets as completely useless should they be put upon the battlefield.

"Shit! Really? I thought the kid part was just a joke!" Zack's wide-eyed expression nearly softened the edge Sephiroth had been feeling all day.

"Just what I need…a psychopathic child wanting to play war. I thought that had ended when I became general," muttered Sephiroth under his breath, so softly that Zack, if he had not been infused with more MAKO than most others, would probably have missed the comment. His glowing amethyst eyes flickered over the cadets as he calculated how to get the general off that particular train of thought.

"At least there shouldn't be another situation where kids will be sent to war, right, Seph? The Wutaian War is probably the end of that." Zack mentally performed a victory dance as he saw the calm expression slip over Sephiroth's glowing emerald eyes. As the general's (only) friend and second-in-command, he had learned early on, through what was dubbed "Sephiroth watching", that the calm expression means the general had stopped recalling the painful days of his childhood.

"So! I think most of these boys will probably fail the exam! I just don't think they have what it takes, you know? I mean…that one's too cute—he should get a boyfriend—that one looks like he's still weaning—what? It's true!" Zack pouted as Sephiroth sent him a glare. Zack laughed softly before continuing to fill the silence with his comments. Some of them had Sephiroth gazing at his second-in-command as if the latter is insane—even if he had been subjected to that sort of idiocy and oddity for a few years now.

Just as most of the cadets were finishing about the twenty third lap of their fifty lap total for starters, Sephiroth turned his eyes on the most unusual sight he had laid eyes on in quite a long time. A lone boy, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt and equally black pants, adjusted the black cotton scarf wrapped loosely around his neck before walking nonchalantly towards the SOLDIER barracks. Despite the fact that most of the boy's face remained covered by the scarf, Sephiroth saw glowing sapphire eyes adorning a youthful face, topped with a mess of long blond hair tied in a pony tail at the back.

"Hey…Is that a cadet trying to get out of practice?" questioned Zack as he furrowed his eyes at the sight of the black-clad boy wandering silently across the training field. Before any certainties can be made, the training supervisor had caught sight of the teen and stomped over with an enraged look on his face.

"Uh oh. Looks like trouble! Better mosey!" grinned Zack as he hopped off his seat and marched enthusiastically over to where the oblivious teen stood blinking his fathomless eyes innocently, towered over by the training supervisor.

After a few exchanged comments, Zack winced at the sudden outburst on the near purple-faced man. "Are you trying to make me look like a fool, cadet?! SOLDIER is not a joke! Neither is showing up nearly an hour and a half late for training!" roared the training instructor, whose name tag displayed the words 'Michael Cross'.

Zack noted that the boy stood stock still, and wondered briefly if the instructor had traumatized the boy with all his loud shouting.

"Hey!" greeted Zack as he casually sauntered up to the incongruous pair that had been effectively gathering the attention of all on the field. "What's the problem here, gentlemen?"

The instructor saluted quickly and sharply as he turned to look at the man who had addressed him. "Nothing, Lieutenant! This cadet seems to have forgotten his training schedule and decided to show up late without a valid excuse!" reported Michael nastily as he grinned smugly at the cadet, thinking that the first-class SOLDIER would surely expel the boy for not taking basic training seriously.

"Is this true, cadet?" grinned Zack playfully as he leaned in to examine the boy's pretty, but covered, face.

"I can assure you…" murmured the boy as he turned his gaze downwards towards the ground, "that I am no cadet."

Zack had caught the look of surprise and confusion flicker through those brilliant blue eyes before the gaze was averted.

"No? Then whacha doing on the cadet training grounds?" Zack smiled brighter as the blue eyes turned themselves back to gaze into the purple ones, as if the boy was searching for some sort of scheme behind his interrogator's careless questions.

"I am here by appointment," replied the boy after a moment's contemplation, and Zack's grin faded a little as he realized how much calculations went through the boy's head at a simple, friendly inquiry.

"What's your name?" Zack nearly jumped a mile into the air before spinning around to glare accusingly at his superior for startling him like that. Ignoring the presence of the instructor (who hastily attempted to present himself valiantly and respectfully to the great general), Sephiroth shot Zack an amused glance before turning his serious eyes on the boy who had turned to examine the general.

"Strife. _General_ Strife," came the automatic response. Zack blinked for a minute and Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, observing the boy closely for any sign of lying, before the training instructor exploded angrily at the boy's response.

"General?! What do you think you're playing at, boy! Just because there are rumors of a new general coming does not mean you can make a joke of the position in front of your superiors!" The man's tirade would have continued if Sephiroth had not held up a hand to silence the man.

"Instructor, attend to your cadets," ordered Sephiroth, frowning as the boy showed no outward signs of mirth. The instructor huffed a little and then straightened himself into a quick salute before stalking over to where his cadets remained gawking at the unfamiliar boy that seemed so composed in the intimidating and overwhelming presence of the general. A quick shout and a few insults later and the boys were back on their feet, performing push-ups and sit-ups with barely suppressed groans of disappointment.

"You look rather…indisposed to be a general, Strife," murmured Sephiroth softly as he gave the boy another quick once-over. The boy, especially underneath those loose clothing, looked slender to the point of having a womanly figure—hardly the muscled figure of a general that would inspire fear into his enemies at a single glance. Even the childlike innocence glimmering in those wide blue eyes seemed to speak of a boy who had yet to grow out of depending on his parents, much less kill a battalion of enemies without thought.

But the only response to the insult was a slight squinting of the eyes, as if the boy was smiling brightly at the comment. Coldness and deadliness suddenly slipped into those fathomless eyes, and Sephiroth felt as if he was no longer looking at a boy, but at an ancient being who had experienced many life times over.

"Looks can be deceiving, General," bantered the boy, the supposed 'General Strife'. Out of the corner of his eye, Sephiroth saw that Zack was having an equally hard time figuring out this anonymous boy claiming to be the rumored general.

"Well! It's just that you look so scrawny, ya know," grinned Zack as he attempted to approach the boy with a more friendly method, hoping that he can extract hidden information by catching the boy off guard. "I mean Sephiroth here was probably way taller and meaner looking than you when he became general, but hey! I like looking at pretty things like you once in a while though."

The boy looked amused, as his eyes remained upturned slightly as he smiled, and made no move whatsoever to stop the black-haired SOLDIER from stopping his rant—in which some of the exaggerated gestures nearly made him laugh—any time soon. However, he suddenly stiffened and the mirth dropped from his eyes. Zack similarly stilled and all conversation stopped between the three. A moment later, Professor Hojo and President ShinRa appeared through the doors of the SOLDIER barracks, leisurely approaching the trio.

"Ah! Strife! You're here! Perfect!" called the fat walrus of a man as he waddled over the short distance to the three potentially most powerful men in the world. Professor Hojo had an equally nasty but gleeful grin on his face as he took in the appearance of his three most prized subjects.

"How was the trip, Strife?" asked Hojo as he peered over the top of his glasses at the teen, easily the shortest and scrawniest looking of the group.

"Fine, sir," replied Strife. The boy's expressionless face seemed to please the professor immensely, almost as if satisfied with the fact that the boy behaved exactly like he wanted him to.

"Good, good. Now then, I suppose I should present you with your little welcoming 'present'," questioned Hojo expectantly. Sephiroth and Zack were slightly apprehensive of the fact that Hojo continued to ignore them, especially when in the past, Hojo had all but resorted to the violence of the Turks to drag them to their "appointments". At the word 'present', the two men had felt rising suspicion—confirmed by the barely noticeable wince that appeared in the boy's eyes—and then experienced anger boiling deep underneath their skin at the thought that Hojo had once again done the inhuman thing of experimenting on another _child_.

"Of course, Doctor. Your 'presents' are always pleasurable, as always," murmured the boy without hesitation, watching the professor's gleeful face turn downright exhilarated.

"This one won't hurt, since you must be so tired from your travels," promised Hojo, who looked away from the group of men temporarily as he spotted the gates the SOLDIER complex open to allow two trucks through. "But first, I've ordered your weapons, compliments of President ShinRa."

_So that was what Hojo wanted the SOLDIERs for? To play delivery man for a boy that looks barely sixteen?_ Sephiroth frowned thoughtfully as he watched the group of seven or so SOLDIERs hop off the back of the truck, present a quick salute, and then proceed to drag a few wooden boxes off the truck and onto the ground. At a quick nod from Sephiroth, the SOLDIERs gratefully dismissed themselves into the barracks to rest after a lengthy one-week mission to Mideel.

One by one, Strife knelt down and opened the boxes, revealing to the group the beautifully crafted broad swords that lay wrapped amidst a coffin of red velvet and silk. The extravagance was not lost on the general, and his mind turned to process the reasons as to why President ShinRa would agree to spend such a wealth on these swords. The last time any sort of excessiveness was expended was when he himself had been presented with the Masamune, and that had been at least a good decade ago.

"What do you think of them, Strife?" laughed President ShinRa boisterously, as if trying to hide how much spending money on these weapons hurt him.

There was true and pure joy within the boy's eyes, and Sephiroth held his breath unconsciously when he saw how beautiful the boy's eyes lit up at the sight of the swords. He quickly berated himself for his thoughts.

"They're wonderful, sir," thanked Strife as he gingerly picked up each sword with ease and slid them effortlessly into the weapons-holder strapped around his torso, rotating his shoulders as he became accustomed to the weight. Even though Sephiroth felt surprised at the fact that such a small and skinny boy managed to withstand the weight of seven broad swords—much less manipulate them so easily—he prevented himself from showing his shock. He noted, however, that Zack, the self-proclaimed expert on all broad swords, and President ShinRa gaped openly at the boy's ability to carry and wield not one, but _seven_, swords. It took at least a well-built SOLDIER to carry each of the boxes.(1)

"Excellent, let's hurry to the lab then," beamed Hojo almost impatiently as he gestured for Strife to follow him. The boy shot a longing look at Zack and Sephiroth before nodding his head and quietly following the professor into the darkness of the SOLDIER barracks. The two SOLDIERs missed the sly glance Hojo shot them before departing with Strife.

"Well!" coughed President ShinRa as he tried to blink away his astonishment. "I better get going! Good day, General, Lieutenant!"

As the overweight man ambled away, Zack's eyes had suddenly turned into seriousness, especially when he noticed that the cadets were gawking with equal surprise that the sixteen-year-old boy—built even less than they are—managed to perform such a feat. He chuckled softly, though the mirth was absent from his voice.

"There is something _seriously_ wrong with this picture," grinned Zack as he kindly reminded the instructor that the cadets will never pass the examinations if they continue to gape instead of train.

* * *

The afternoon had gone by in a flash of blurred memories as Strife laid completely still in his new bed, all thoughts of moving completely gone from his mind for the irrational fear of triggering a deeper pain than the ones inflicted by Hojo in the laboratory. He stared up at the ceiling, the only source of light in the entire room coming from the intense glow shinning through his eyes. The MAKO burning through his bloodstream had temporarily rendered him blind and deaf, if not completely immobile for the next few hours.

He could not understand his surroundings anymore. Hadn't…hadn't it only been last night that he had been lying in his own bed, reflecting on the conversation he had that afternoon with Red XIII, when he had fallen asleep? Yet, whenever he tried to recall all that occurred within the past few years of his life, he had been presented with a dual stream of memories, one of traveling alone and purposeless throughout the world, and the other of residing within a laboratory deep within the confines of a rather familiar old mansion. He contemplated the possibility that this situation he is in is merely an illusion conjured by that female monstrosity he had seen last night before the green lights surrounding him shut down his mind. Yet, the pain he had felt during the experiment session this afternoon had felt a little too real for this world to be dismissed as a mere fancy of his mind, imposed upon him as a spell.

The beginnings of a migraine threatened him as the throbbing between his eyes increased, and he wished that he had enough strength to lift his arm and rub at his temples and his nose. _Wouldn't hurt! What a load of shit!_ Strife narrowed his eyes furiously, glaring at the ceiling. At least, he mused morbidly, Hojo had personally overseen the removal and storage of his swords within his new room before dragging him to the laboratory eagerly. _Wouldn't want me to run myself through while trying to sleep, would we!_

A shot of pain traveled up his spine when he tried to shift into a more comfortable position, leaving him hissing in pain on the bed. Quickly, his mind sought out any train of thought to distract him from dwelling on the pain.

\…My beautiful…sons…for you…\ (2)

There was that raspy, barely feminine voice hissing through his psyche again, but before he could even evaluate what the voice had said, he found himself thinking about those two men he had met that afternoon. The two men had been gorgeous, but he remembered that something about these two men made his heart clinch with sorrow. Even though he had not exactly caught their names…

\…Not true…my child…\

_That's right…One of them was called Sephiroth_. Strife blinked, his brain churning to pull itself together through the haze of the chemicals and the pain. _Sephiroth…Wasn't that the name on one of the tombstones...?_ He furrowed his eyebrows, trying to remember that tidbit of information, and frowned when his mind blanked out instead, refusing to allow him the luxury of remembering. He felt frustrated. He had read the name yesterday, but had already forgotten it?

He realized then that there were more gaps within his memories than he remembered being there before, and cold dread washed over his body, making him completely forget about his physical pain. He wondered how much more he would forget, if he had not forgotten all of it already. He knew that there was something utterly _important_ about those two men he had met, something to do with his redemption perhaps, in his other life. Yet, his other life is his life, and this world…Well. He could barely distinguish one world from another rather than the fact that living in either retained the loneliness and the emptiness he had felt for the majority of his life. Then, another thought occurred to him. _SOLDIERs_…Didn't he, at one point of his life, talk about some program called SOLDIERs as if his life depended upon it? The memories seemed so distant and faint now, as he tried to recollect his past. He supposed living for so long must have dulled his memories to the point that they can no longer be recalled even with the appropriate stimuli.

Again, he fell back to musing about his true age, especially since he never did seem to age beyond the appearance of a twenty-three-year-old man. Vincent had once tried to explain to him the science behind it, mentioning names such as..._Hm…What were those names again? Something like…Lucy…Lucre? I don't suppose that would be important…Vincent said she had died much too early for her to play an important role. Though…In what?_

Something cold and hot gripped his mind then, and he felt black and white spots dot his peripheral vision, gradually gaining upon his main vision until he was left in mental anguish. He never realized that he had been straining and silently screaming until he lay, once again, still upon the sweat-soaked bed. His mind felt dimmer and more vacant than before, but he could not even garner the mental energy to contemplate that fact as he stared blankly up at the darkness of his room.

\…Sleep, my child…\

_That voice again_…He felt hatred surge up from the bottom of his heart at the sound of that voice, because he knew without doubt that it had been that particular voice that had sent him into pain and misery countless times. He remembered then, just before the cold and hot feeling ravaged his mind once more, that it was that voice that he had heard before the world turned into a completely foreign place for him.

But that realization, like many other thoughts, was washed away in a green haze as he lost consciousness for the night.

* * *

When the two generals and the second-in-command met again the next day, the tension crackled ominously in the air surrounding the small conference room in which the three men sat. The two older SOLDIERs narrowed their eyes as the boy walked elegantly into the room, both noticing the slight waver in his footsteps and the inconspicuous limp that followed each extension of the leg in front of the other. The boy's eyes even looked glazed and disoriented, as if he was lost within the regions of his mind and only his physical shell remained.

"Good day, General, Lieutenant," murmured the boy softly in greeting before sitting down in his designated seat.

"Hey!" greeted Zack cheerfully as he grabbed the seat by the boy and proceeded to slouch comfortably into the seat—much to the chagrin to one of his superiors, whose disgruntled glare was easily ignored by the black haired teenager.

"Lieutenant…how old are you again?" chastised Sephiroth in annoyance as he stirred his cup of coffee, glancing at the stacks of paper to his left.

"As old as you need me!" chirped Zack in return, grinning at Strife as if by smiling brightly at seven in the morning, all persons would suddenly feel the urge to smile. But to his disappointment, the boy sat completely unresponsive, almost as if his mind was not even present at the meeting. Zack mentally frowned, worry—because he knew Sephiroth would never worry if he could help it—making itself known in his heart and dampening his mood.

"Hey…you okay there?" asked Zack, genuinely curious about the boy's health even though he had only met the boy for a few moments the past day. Eerily glowing but empty eyes turned to gaze at Zack, unnerving the lieutenant.

"I'm…fine," determined Strife as he turned to scrutinize the other general.

Sephiroth noticed how uncertain and hesitant the boy had sounded when he replied, and stored the observation into his mind for future analysis. When his subconscious snickered and questioned his motives for studying the boy, he kindly reminded his subconscious that since the two shall be working together, he better understand his coworker before future problems arise. He took a sip of his coffee and watched the boy's hand twitch involuntarily on top of the table, almost as if his nerves had been tampered with, though, he reflected, that would not be altogether an unlikely theory since the boy had seen Hojo the previous day.

"So…I'm sure you already know that we're here 'cause we need to talk about work, right? You see, Seph here typically does the paperwork for the missions, while I deal with some of the more minor issues, like cadet training, offense, and that sort of stuff! Now, we're not entirely sure what you specialize in but—" rambled Zack as he realized neither of the two generals would talk unless provoked.

"I can take care of the cadets if you wish me to," interrupted the boy, his hand reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose.

_/Man! I hate paperwork! I thought I was supposed to actually _use_ my knowledge and skills when I joined SOLDIER, not slave behind a desk!/_

"You sure? They can be a handful—" grinned Zack, even as his eyebrows furrowed at the sight of the boy rubbing at his temples.

"Zachary…stop talking for a few minutes," sighed Sephiroth as he picked through the pile of paperwork that he had carried with him into the conference room earlier that morning. To his surprise, Zack did stop talking, without even an ounce of annoyance on his face. He realized that his friend—his _only_ friend—was watching Strife intently, as if trying to work out how to befriend the boy.

"Zachary…" mumbled the boy softly, as his eyes took on a slightly distant glaze. "Za…Zachary Fair?"

Zack blinked. "Uh…yes?" replied Zack, unsure of what the boy was thinking.

A look of intense pain passed through Strife's eyes as if he had been shot, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared, almost making Zack doubt he had seen it if not for the fact that his fist had clinched. How he wanted to reach out and hug the short, vulnerable-looking boy before he broke.

"Are you certain you are fine, General?" asked Sephiroth, his voice unusually soft.

"Yes," came the raspy response, though both could tell it was a lie. "On the contrary of what my looks may say to you…I'm not easily broken. If you continue to ask my health, I will gladly rid you of your tongue, general or not."

The sinister, hostile look was back in the boy's eyes again, and Zack barely suppressed a shudder as the gaze turned to look into his own amethyst eyes. The look simply looked so unnatural and uncanny on the young face. Momentarily, Zack forgot that it was still a _boy_ sitting to his side.

"How about a spar, later in the day, so that you may evaluate my ability to fight and to strategize? That way, you can argue amongst yourself as to what to do with my capabilities," suggested Strife coldly, his voice clearly stating that he wished for no arguments.

"Very well, then. Zachary shall fetch you when the time comes, so that you may not lose your way," consented Sephiroth.

A nod later, and the boy stood up to leave the room, slipping through the filling corridors and offices like a silent shadow.

* * *

"There is something seriously whacked with that kid," grumbled Zack as soon as the door to the conference room snapped shut. "Did you see his eyes? One second, he looks the perfect part of a lost little kid and the next moment, he looks like he's about to murder someone! I hope this isn't what Hojo did to him because I swear I'll go slit that madman's throat right now, court martial or not!"

"Zachary…" murmured Sephiroth as he looked calmly—albeit somewhat exasperatedly—at his second-in-command.

"He's only a _kid_, for God's sake, Seph! How old is he? Sixteen? He must haven been as young as you when Hojo started experimenting on him. No offense, Seph, but Hojo's subjects never exactly turned out well in the end. Remember when you went through the longest period of being utterly isolated and anti-social before I came along and rescued you—?" ranted Zack.

"Yes, I understand your point, Zachary—"

"Can you please call me _Zack_ for once? I mean, it's only _one_ syllable long!"

"I hardly think this is the time for such…childish arguments," stated Sephiroth as he stared flatly at Zack. Zack merely sighed.

"That's just it. He resembles you when I first met you, you know? It's like talking to a brick wall sometimes—well, a robot on better days. But still, it's not healthy!"

"And I suppose in the perfect world, every single person should have your disgustingly sunny disposition every day?"

"At least you're way better than Strife right now!"

"Sometimes, Zachary, I wonder if you have even made the ranks of SOLDIER if your fighting abilities had simply not been above average."

"Seph," whined Zack.

"…I admit…that it is rather pleasant to have someone to talk to who isn't using the opportunity to get a promotion," confessed Sephiroth, the words spoken so softly that Zack had to strain his ears to catch all the words. Momentarily, the general regretted speaking the words, but the brilliant smile—one of the few _real_ smiles that actually adorned the lieutenant's face—that followed made him easily forget his loss of pride.

"It is nice to talk to someone about your problems, regardless of what they are, isn't it?" mused Zack as he stared out the glass pane of the conference room onto the polluted skies overhanging Midgar. "I suppose we'll just have to get him to trust us enough that he can tell us what Hojo does to him."

Suddenly, Zack shot up from his chair.

"I'll go dig up Hojo's files on him, if there's any," grinned Zack. "Having a head start's gotta be good! Don't worry! Zack is on the case!"

With that, Zack eagerly made his way out of the conference room. Sephiroth froze, and then sighed. Zack had managed to skip out on paperwork once again.

* * *

Strife barely managed to stumble onto his bed before collapsing bonelessly on the pile of twisted blankets and soft pillows. He shivered even though the temperature of the room had been regulated—orders of Hojo—at perfect room temperature regardless of the weather conditions outside. His world was starting to blur again. Every time he remembered something, that green, ugly haze gripped his mind and then those precious memories would be locked away. He knew something important occurred in his past with these two men. He remembered the name 'Zachary Fair', he knew, but he could not be sure from where.

_If this is the past…Why don't I feel like any of this ever happened at all? That thing in my head...Hojo has the answers. Wouldn't Vincent know?_ He paused. _Would Vincent exist in this world at all? So much has changed, hasn't it?_ He berated himself. He should have explored the Nibelheim mansion more thoroughly before being shipped to Midgar, and now that little oversight might have cost him something precious. He supposed if he asked to go back to Nibelheim now, suspicions might be raised. He knew without a doubt that he must keep Hojo at bay at all costs, or else those chemicals will wash away more of his mind.

_Too bad the graveyard probably doesn't exist here…The answers would have been there._ His eyelids were drooping now, threatening to close themselves in light slumber.

_/Mother…/_

_/Let him yearn for her./_

His eyelids drifted shut. He thought he saw a beautiful girl wearing a pink dress the corner of his vision, but the image grayed into blackness.

* * *

When Zack knocked on the door to SOLDIER apartment room 741, he had not been in a good mood. Five and a half hours worth of pounding away at his keyboard in his dingy little office had yielded little to no information about this 'General Strife', and he was frustrated beyond all means. Belatedly, he had felt a little guilty about lashing out at Sephiroth earlier when the two of them had lunched together, but he just hated not being able to help the blond-haired teenager out.

_/Hey, Zack…When we get out of this, we'll be together forever…right?/_

His hand paused before striking the door and he faltered in his thoughts.

_/Subject A…want you…subject B…/_

He closed his eyes and let his arm drop back to his side, his head drooping as he remembered that sadistic smile on that gaunt, insane face. He had only been twelve years old when he was ordered by Hojo to strangle his childhood best friend. They had been together for as long as he could remember, but all those experiments later, and he had mindlessly murdered his only friend in the entire laboratory, only to realize the fact after he had felt the last breath leave that body and seen the dull glaze cover those normally vivacious eyes.

The door to the dimly lit apartment opened, and drooping blond spikes came into view, followed by lackluster sapphire eyes, an extremely pale face, and a wet, half-nude body. He raised an eyebrow and grinned widely when the boy blushed in embarrassment and retreated back into the apartment bedroom to don some proper clothing.

"I didn't realize you'd be here so early," explained Strife as he tried to dry his body while searching through his drawers for appropriate sparring clothing.

"No problem! We've got time!" interjected Zack, waving a hand in dismissal at the shy apology. "Besides, I get a nice view!"

A sharp glare later had Zack laughing at the cute little scowl that had unconsciously adorned the boy's unveiled face.

_/Don't be mad…I wouldn't leave my friends alone./_

_/We're friends./_

Strife blinked away the sudden stray thoughts that flitted through his mind at the sound of Zack's voice. These playful teasing and the friendly gestures felt so familiar and comfortable to him, but left his heart aching faintly afterwards. Shaking his head quickly, he pulled on a black, sleeveless wool turtleneck and some loose white cotton pants. Inwardly, he laughed at his choice of clothing, noticing that he had decided on the same suit of clothing he typically preferred to wear before he arrived here. However, his left shoulder felt a little bare without the usual armor guard covering it. He shrugged. _Perhaps I'll get one later…_

He walked out of the bedroom to see Zack sitting morosely on the leather couch—Strife wondered at the luxury of having a couch, since he thought of the apartment as a place to sleep, not to relax. He cleared his throat slightly, forcing Zack to break away from his previous thoughts and turn around to gaze at his host. Zack scratched the back of his head with one gloved hand and grinned apologetically for being caught off guard.

"You look better without your scarf," complemented Zack as he stood up from the couch and leaned closer—across the back of the couch—to peer at the blonde's face. "Very cute indeed."

Strife merely blushed, coughed, and averted his gaze. The boy shuffled his feet a little awkwardly before looking back at Zack's grinning face again.

"Can we get going?"

"Right. This way!"

When Zack reached out to grab Strife's hand, he suddenly felt a sharp sting on his hand, and realized that the boy had slapped away his hand. He blinked.

"It won't for you to have friends, you know, General," grinned Zack.

"I don't need friends. They have a tendency to—" Zack tilted his head slightly to the side, in a gesture of curiosity, when the boy suddenly stopped in the middle of his sentence and looked off to the side, an unreadable expression in those eyes that made the youthful face suddenly age a great deal.

"To what?" questioned Zack softly.

_/I've never forgive you for killing her!/_

_/I'll live on for you too…/_

"None of your business, Lieutenant. Now, let's get going," murmured Strife viciously before walking through the threshold of his apartment.

* * *

Sephiroth grunted softly in annoyance when he realized that somehow rumors had spread through the entire SOLDIER barracks mentioning that the two great generals will be sparring against each other. His face had twitched in exasperation when his secretary had knocked timidly on his door and popped in to stutter the message that the battle arena had been booked for the afternoon, compliments of President ShinRa. Now, because of that meddling old fool, the majority of SOLDIERs and the cadets had shown up unexpectedly to watch the "friendly" spar, which he had originally intended to be a private affair! Even some of the Turks had been intrigued enough (or bored enough, as was the likely reason) to attend the event, as if it was meant to be some form of entertainment. He sighed as he gripped Masamune tightly in his hands while waiting for Zack and Strife to show up.

A few minutes later, and Zack strolled into the battle arena, grinning from ear to ear as he fingered the hilt of his Buster Sword affectionately. Following closely behind the tall First Class SOLDIER walked in Strife, the boy looking slightly less delicate without the scarf and the loose clothing. The seven broad swords that he had witnessed the arrival of the previous day shone brilliantly behind the boy's back as he ventured from the darkened corridor onto the floor of the battle arena.

"So, Spike! Who do you wanna have a go at first—"

"I'd like to fight you first, if that's possible," interrupted Strife softly as he gazed at the Buster Sword strapped to Zack's back with another one of those unreadable expressions.

"You sure? Sephiroth can play hard, ya know." Zack was grinning at him again, and Strife felt the corners of his lips curve upwards in a small smile.

"Yeah. I would love to fight you," replied Strife as he reached and pulled out the smallest and frailest looking blade from his weapons holder.

"Hope ya don't mind, Seph! But apparently Spike likes me better than you."

Sephiroth merely nodded his head before turning around and sitting on one of the benches situated on the side of the battle arena.

Zack pulled the Buster Sword off of his back and positioned himself into a battle stance, the weight of the heavy broad sword resting soothingly—and almost weightlessly, due to his years of practice—in his hands. Excited whispers filled the silence of the battle arena, but the two warriors on the battlefield ignored the din easily.

Strife darted forward, his speed impressively fast for all the weight he was carrying on his back, and Zack pushed his feet forward to block the strike, grimacing slightly when he felt the scrap of the two metal blades ringing in his ears. He somersaulted backwards, vaguely registering the fact that his arms actually ached a little from the impact of the two swords.

He charged forward again and arched his sword over his head as he jumped over a swing at his feet. The swords made impact again before deflecting themselves for another meeting. The sounds of metal clashing filled the silence of the arena.

Zack swung his sword to the side to block an attack there, and twisted his body around to catch the boy on the ankle, only to discover empty air. In his peripheral vision, he saw a glint of metal and docked his head hastily before leaping backwards into the air. When he landed on his feet, he noticed that Strife had pulled out another sword and was now in the process of combining the two swords together. He narrowed his eyes, panting softly from the exertion of the battle.

Neither noticed the smiles on their faces as the adrenaline from the battle pumped through their bloodstreams, singing of an exhilarating experience where a decent opponent has finally been acquired. Their blades met intimately once again as the two bodies flew towards each other at high speeds.

The MAKO in their bloodstreams hummed excitedly.

The first limit was broken by Zack, and soon the battle arena was strewn with slash marks and the debris of broken concrete and rocks. The second limit broke as easily and soon the two figures were as eagerly dancing on the floor as dancing in the air. The ceiling groaned as Zack managed to swing his sword hard enough against Strife's sword so that the latter flew backwards towards the ceiling. Slightly disoriented but unsurprised, Strife twisted around so that his feet absorbed the shock of the impact against the concrete ceiling, and then he jumped forwards into the air once again to meet the incoming Buster Sword.

Suddenly, the boy darted to the left instead of blocking the blow, narrowly dodging the impressive strike. A moment later, Zack felt a stinging pain in his back before he landed on the floor, stumbling a little on his feet. He grimaced and barely managed to pull his sword up to meet the assault at his head. But in his haste, his grasp had been loose and his Buster Sword went flying out of his hands, spinning through the air before embedding its blade deep into the concrete of the walls making up the battle ring. Zack fell back onto his posterior, panting heavily as he registered his defeat.

As Strife held out his blade against Zack's throat, the two looked at each other with intense and profound respect. Slowly, Strife lowered his sword and offered his hand to Zack, who gratefully clasped it and pulled himself to his feet. The arena was silent as the audience watched in rapt silence.

"SUGOI-NE!" cried out one enthusiastic Wutaian cadet, clapping his hands over his mouth in embarrassment at the sudden outburst. But soon, the arena was filled with loud shouts of admiration and praises.

Zack laughed exuberantly. "Looks like we made quite an impression, Spike!" exclaimed Zack as he rubbed at his back, wincing as his fingers came away with blood, though not a copious amount. He figured it might be a shallow cut at best.

Still with that satiated smile on those soft lips, Strife turned to make a bow at Sephiroth, inviting the seated man to join him in battle. Sephiroth nodded his head once again and approached the two teenagers, his mind raging with the thought of the potential residing within the boy.

As he assumed the battle position with Masamune, the arena suddenly hushed itself once again, the cadets eagerly holding their breath as they awaited the next battle. He intently watched Strife, awaiting the first move. Soon, he saw the boy dart forward with the sword thrusting forward in front of the small frame. Sephiroth spun to his left and crouched low, swinging his long sword in a low sweep, unsurprised that the boy was not caught off guard.

When Strife somersaulted backwards several times to put some distance between the two bodies, Sephiroth darted towards the spinning, lithe body. He saw the calculating gleam in those two brilliant blue eyes even as his sword was parried—by the third sword that was pulled out from the weapons holder, he noted.

Sephiroth went on the offense as his swings came faster and faster, but Strife merely twisted his body more frequently to block his attacks with the two swords he now held in either hand. Rocks and rubble flew through the air at their furious battle, and he vaguely heard the terrified scream of a cadet whom Sephiroth had passed by on his way up to meet Strife.

Strife dodged a blow and darted towards the ground, combining his third sword with his other two swords even as he whipped out his fourth sword. Sephiroth followed, and Strife twisted around in the air to parry the blows directed at him. His feet touched the ground, and he gritted his teeth when he felt the hard impact of Masamune against his two crossed blades, the force leaving his arms aching agonizingly. He grunted and twisted his wrists to send his two blades forward in twin swings, pushing Masamune away from his body. Sephiroth leapt backwards to avoid the two blades.

At the third limit break—first for Sephiroth—both warriors were panting, the former harsher than the latter. Strife darted forwards again—by this time, his broad sword had been a combination of all seven swords—and clashed against Masamune once again, and Sephiroth briefly wondered, through the haze of battle lust, how the boy managed to maintain his stamina through the lengthy battle when he had previously fought against Zack.

Sephiroth had landed a few hits on the slim body, but the boy continued battling as if the pain of the injuries were negligent—when he knew full well that most SOLDIERs would have been flinching in pain at the smallest of blows. _Perhaps I have been holding my true strength back from him? But that cannot quite be possible, since I feel _that_ ache in my arms_. Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, wondering if Strife meant to collapse from exhaustion before admitting defeat.

Strife jumped upwards into the air to avoid his relentless assault, momentarily catching a breather. Sephiroth equally followed the boy into the air, pausing as he witnessed one of the most surprising sights he had laid eyes on.

Strife's eyes had taken on that ancient gleam once again, and in his fleeting distraction, Sephiroth found himself surrounded by six shimmering swords, radiating unspoken power. As soon as he returned his gaze towards his opponent once again, he discovered that the boy had charged forward off the ceiling with his lone broad sword. Before he could even react, Sephiroth felt the first blow to his body from the first broad sword. He twisted around only in time to watch Strife grasp the second broad sword and swing through his body. In a flash, he felt five more slashes before he plummeted to the ground of the battle arena, the force of his body striking the broken concrete creating a small crater. Sephiroth coughed up blood and barely managed to hoist himself into a sitting position to clutch at his abdomen, where seven identical slashes ripped through his protective gear and his soft flesh.

In his haze of pain, he barely heard Zack coming up to check his health. Strife landed unsteadily on his feet a few yards away from them, and the six swords that had once hovered in the air dropped down to impale the broken ground. The nearly panicky, completely bewildered expression on Strife's face surprised him. A moment later, Strife gripped the sides of his face before falling to his knees.

Before Sephiroth could see what had happened to the boy, darkness had claimed his vision as he drifted off from the pain and shock.

* * *

Notes:

(1) The SOLDIERs who went on the mission are only third class SOLDIERs. As a comparison, I'd say Zack's Buster Sword probably takes at least three or four of them to carry.

(2) The idea that Jenova actually had multiple "sons" comes from the fanfic "Secrets Revised" by tyr-synni. It follows that those who had Jenova cells in their bodies are considered the "sons" of Jenova. Heh, I guess in a way, Hojo can also be considered one of Jenova's sons.


	3. Chapter 2 : Timeless

A/R: Please note that because there have been hints of **shounen ai** scattered throughout, there will most likely be some sort of **yaoi** or **yuri** at the end of the story. If this does not seem to be your particular brand of vodka, please feel free to click the back button conveniently located at the top of your screen. Thank you and enjoy.

* * *

**Requiem**

Chapter 2: Timeless

* * *

When Sephiroth cracked open his eyes, he noticed that night had fallen. With a soft grunt, he gingerly sat up, noticing that his coat and top had been removed and that tight bandages wrapped around his abdomen. He grimaced slightly at the sight of the soiled bandages, the white gradually darkening into decaying red-brown near the middle of the mess. He turned his head to the side to observe his surroundings, noting with satisfaction that he sat on his own bed rather than the uncomfortable ones of the white-washed infirmary. A small rustle of clothing caught his attention and he turned his head to look into the darkest corner of his room, noticing that Zack had fallen asleep in one of the chairs there.

Noticing that Zack had a troubled expression on his face as he slept, Sephiroth clambered off the bed, traversing the short distance separating him from the slumbering teenager. His hand reached out and shook at the other's shoulder. He allowed himself the luxury of an amused smile as he watched Zack groggily take account of who was shaking him awake and then jump in surprise.

"You're awake!" exclaimed Zack as he tried to right himself before he fell out of his chair. He grinned sheepishly when he failed and fell in a heap on the floor.

"Next time, try sleeping somewhere more comfortable," chided Sephiroth as he retrieved the first aid kit from the bathroom. He figured he would remove the bandages before they stick to his body any further. He knew his wounds were already healed, probably due to a combination of the chemicals in his bloodstream and from a stashed Cure materia in his bedside drawers—which only Zack knew the location of, besides himself.

"I didn't exactly mean to fall asleep in this chair," pouted Zack as he stood up, holding up and waving the unlabelled folder within his hands. "I did some more research while you were out—yes, I used your computer, and no, don't give me that look! I didn't break anything!—I found some interesting things about our little general friend."

Sephiroth nodded to show that he was paying attention even as he directed his eyes towards the pair of scissors snipping away at the bandages.

"The kid doesn't have any sort of _real_ files, digital or physical, saying he did anything important enough to be promoted to the status of general. The only thing I managed to pull up were some old lab reports Hojo had carelessly saved onto the network without at least twenty different codes…Well, that and some nondescript deal between President ShinRa and Hojo about research funding for some Project J. The details of the deal were worked out, but apparently there's absolutely no records whatsoever outside of this dinky piece of signed paper." Zack paused for breath as his eyes skimmed through the rest of the files for the main points of his impromptu research.

"What do the experiment reports say?" questioned Sephiroth as he pulled the linen from his skin, uncaring of the pain that followed after prying some of the stickier parts of the bandages from his torso. No trace of the slash marks—not even healed scars—remained on his skin, as always.

"Nothing much." At this, Zack bit his bottom lip. He sighed at the intent stare from Sephiroth. "He's from Nibelheim, which, apparently, is this really tiny mountain town up north on the other continent. His full name is Cloud Strife, but there's no mention of his parents anywhere—Nibelheim is too small of a town to keep digital files, and Midgar never received enough SOLDIER cadets from that region to care. It's pretty much an isolated community, but there's an old MAKO reactor there. Seph…He was about five years old when Hojo got his hands on him. If even his earlier reports showed so many charts, I don't know how many experiments and tests they put him through on a daily basis."

"If those experiments were anything like what we had been put through, then there is serious cause for concern," murmured Sephiroth as he took the crisp papers from Zack's hand. He frowned as he analyzed the data displayed on the pages. "His MAKO tolerance level is lower than both of ours. He performed significantly worse than both of us in terms of mental and physical capabilities, according to these test scores. Why would Hojo have been so interested in him?"

"That's what confused me when I first read these reports too. But Seph…He managed to defeat both of us in a one-on-one battle today, which is impressive considering most of the files I dug up showed that he never received any sort of training. Unless he'd trained insanely hard over the past four or five years, there's no way he could possibly have improved that much from doing average on those tests to suddenly overpowering the both of us." Zack blinked for a moment. "It's almost as if he'd been programmed to do these things, from the way he fought. Pure, natural instinct, with absolutely no thought at all. Maybe Hojo's found something else?"

Sephiroth paused and observed the serious features of his dark-haired companion for a moment. "I suppose Hojo would be rather eager about being able to program any being, regardless of their physical or mental attributes, into fighters with the abilities of First Class SOLDIERs—or above. Still, for Hojo to be able to get his hands on the 'Omni-Slash' technique when barely any of the SOLDIERs outside of you and I have mastered it…The way Strife performed the limit break today suggests that he has had practice before."

Zack grinned. "Such a puzzle, isn't it? Not to mention suspicious. Wonder how many people know about this—"

A knock suddenly resounded at the door of the apartment.

"I thought you never get visitors here outside of me?" pouted Zack as he stood up—stretching a little and cracking some stiff joints as he did so—and walked over to unlock the front door.

"Most find me completely too intimidating to offend me by stepping into my private quarters," agreed Sephiroth. If it had been Hojo, the man would not have bothered with the courtesy of knocking.

Zack flung open the door, startling the unexpected guest.

"Hey there, Spike! Whacha doing here?" Zack grinned before slinging a muscled arm around the shorter teenager's shoulders, half expecting to have his arm wrenched behind his back for the trespassing of the other's personal space—and being pleasantly graced without any sort of violent reaction outside of the tensing of the shoulders following a small flinch. He bodily dragged the stumbling boy into the dimly lit apartment building and essentially forced the boy to sit on the couch.

"I just wanted to find out if General Sephiroth was alright?" muttered Strife as he scratched a little embarrassedly at his cheek.

"As you can see, I am perfectly fine," replied Sephiroth as he strolled into the kitchen, separated from the rest of the room by a wood and marble bar. "Would you like some tea?"

"I don't want to impose…" Once he had ascertained that the other general did indeed look the part of perfect health, Strife's gaze dropped to his hands resting comfortably on his lap, the tension fading away from his shoulders. Guilt had eaten away at his conscience ever since the end of the battle earlier that day, and all he could think of that entire afternoon, after he had fled the arena—horrified and utterly perplexed by his actions—had been the image of the bleeding general. "I didn't exactly mean to stay very long."

"Well, since you made the effort all the way here, might as well stay a little and chat, right? We're gonna be working together in the future, so might as well get to know each other a little. Hey! How old are you anyways?" chattered Zack even though he knew the answer to the question—still, he wanted to hear the boy's answer.

"I…I think…sixteen?" Sephiroth inwardly frowned at the hesitation and the uncertainty lacing the answer to the simple question. Only Zack saw the distant glaze entering the boy's blue eyes, and he did not like the look at all.

"You sure?"

Strife merely shrugged, the focus back in those eyes. "I doubt it really matters."

Zack laughed and winked slyly at the other. "I just wanted to know if I can take you out for a couple of drinks, is all."

_/I'll let you in on a little secret. No one in Midgar really cares how old you are if you've got a ShinRa uniform! I know because I got my first drink at fifteen!/_

Strife shook his head a little to clear out the memory, blushing self-consciously when he realized the two other occupants of the room noticed his gesture. Thankfully, he was saved the trouble of explaining himself when Sephiroth set down three cups of Wutaian tea on the mahogany coffee table placed in front of the sofa. He reached out with a pale hand to take one of the cups. He took a small sip, the scent and the taste of the tea soothing his nerves slightly.

"So where're you from?"

Strife blinked at the grinning face of the black-haired SOLDIER. "Nibelheim."

"How is it there?"

A pause. His memories of his hometown were unclear in his mind, reduced to foggy images of a laboratory distorted through the glowing emerald liquid he remembered being held in for the majority of his childhood days—was it childhood? He had felt a lot older.

"Cold." He shivered, and Zack was not quite sure whether the gesture was conscious or not.

"Any relatives there?"

"My mother died before I came here."

"I'm sorry!" apologized Zack genuinely.

"I have no fond memories of her."

"Doncha miss her anyways? She is your mother…"

Strife shrugged. He could feel the hot blood flowing over his hands now, as he held that cooling, _dying_ body in his arms.

"No one else?"

"No."

"That sucks! My mom and dad live in Gongaga, see? They're really nice, but they always make me write ten-paged letters reporting every single little detail of my life to them." Zack paused to laugh, his eyes twinkling as he remembered the last time he had opened the letter from his parents only to find that they had reprimanded him for writing only a three-paged letter the last time around, depriving them, quote on quote, "of all the wonderful happenings in their precious baby's life!". As annoying as the request had been, he had been glad to be able to use the excuse to occasionally get out of paperwork for a few hours.

"Do they even read all of it?" questioned Strife a little skeptically, though Zack beamed brightly at the curiosity underlying the disbelieving look on the boy's face.

"Of course! Gongaga's been pretty quiet since the MAKO reactor blew up all those years ago, so they pretty much have nothing to do except read letters from me. Do you know where Gongaga is?" Strife shook his head, though he realized that was not particularly true either. "I'd be amazed if you knew. It's a pretty small town, sorta situated in the middle of this hill-thing…Actually, I'm not really quite sure what to call it because it's not steep enough to be a mountain but not small enough to be a hill." Zack scratched his head as he pondered the geography of his hometown.

"I believe the correct term is a 'crater'," supplied Sephiroth, who had, until that point, been completely silent, content to watch the conversation between the two younger ones.

"All the same," waved Zack dismissively. "Spike, how would you like to visit them sometimes?—"

_/Do you know Zack?...Our son...Almost ten years…/_

"—Assuming we ever manage to get a break, that is—"

Cloud failed to notice that his hands had started shaking. _All of this feels so familiar…Almost like déjà vu_. He looked up from his lap into the _alive_ purple eyes and felt coldness wash over him. The delicate porcelain cup cracked from his fierce grip. He had seen those eyes in front of his own before he was pushed to the ground, with the sound of an engine roaring and the ricochet of bullets deflecting off the metal sides of the truck ringing in his ears, as loudly as his own heartbeat. Those lips had moved to tell him to run, but his legs had been useless. The gravel burned into his back and something hot and viscous splattered onto his neck, but he could not _see what was happening_. There was a name, he had tried to call out a name, the word was on the tip of his tongue—!

The shattering of the teacup resounded deafeningly, immediately hushing Zack's ramble and causing two pairs of eyes to be focused on Strife. Strife's eyes flickered down to his hands, where the pain disrupted his thoughts. Pieces of ceramic cut deep into the palms of his hands, and he could feel crimson liquid flowing out of the gashes. Sephiroth was already out of his seat, heading towards the bedroom where he had left the first aid kit, while Zack was busily prying his hands apart to pick away the jagged shards before more damage was done to those delicate hands. (1)

Zack's mouth was moving and the eyes showed a deep concern, but his ears were deaf and his mind felt numb.

"I forgot." With the sound of his own voice, Strife felt the world rush back into his body. "I didn't mean to."

"What did you forget, Cloud?" Zack was grateful Strife was talking. It meant that some semblance of awareness existed.

"_You_…"

_/I-I'm so-sorry…Cloud…Looks like…w-we won't be…making it…to Midgar…together, bu-buddy…/_

Distraught and dazed, Strife shot up from the sofa, wrenching his hands away from Zack's, and darted out of the apartment before Zack could react. By the time Sephiroth heard the wrenching open of the door and stepped back into the living room, the Cure materia in hand, Strife had already disappeared around the corner of the dark corridor. Sephiroth turned his questioning eyes from the open doorway towards his companion, scrutinizing the frozen expression on Zack's face.

"He said he forgot me," repeated Zack as his bloodied hands fell onto his lap, staining the navy blue material of his uniform. "He'd just met me yesterday."

* * *

In his haste to find some private place to reflect on the oppressing memories looming at the back of his mind, Strife nearly rammed into Hojo and his assistant. At Strife's haunted eyes and the openly bleeding hands, Hojo frowned, nearly scowling when he realized his experiments might not have manipulated and programmed the boy's mind as successfully as he originally perceived.

"Strife."

"D-doctor." Strife swallowed thickly as he saw the calculating and disapproving gleam in those callous, merciless eyes.

"I was just looking for you." At the obvious lie, Hojo's assistant nearly uttered a noise of surprise which would have certainly revealed the secret, but quickly reigned in the urge so as to not enrage her superior. Hojo reached up to adjust his glasses.

"You were, sir?" Wide blue eyes gazed up at the professor and Hojo smiled a bit as he noticed the deep-seated fear behind the mask of innocence.

"Yes. I wanted you back in the lab for some additional testing. It shouldn't take long," informed Hojo.

"Can this not wait, sir?" Strife felt the palms of his hands twinge in pain, his cuts aggravated by the sweat that had started to gather there from his nervousness, and mentally cursed himself for the sign of weakness.

"Surely you wouldn't want me to not sedate you for this," sneered Hojo, and Strife immediately straightened himself and nodded his head in agreement. Hojo grinned maliciously as Strife followed him into the confines of the laboratory like a defeated prisoner.

* * *

The laboratory remained largely illuminated by the glowing screens of the data collection computers and the tanks of purified MAKO scattered through the sterile room. The soft green glow permeating throughout the room glinted eerily off the round glasses perched on top of Hojo's sharp nose. Within the hands of the scientist—proclaimed the most brilliant and talented of all—a syringe of swirling emerald liquid stood prepared to pierce the skin of the subject lying comatose on the cold metal table. Bony fingers swabbed at a pale forearm before jabbing the needle into the flesh with practiced precision.

"…Never understand why _she_ wants me to do so much work on _you_…" muttered Hojo to himself as he pushed the plunger down to empty the contents of the syringe into the slightly convulsing body. "…Where the lapse came from…"

Hojo growled softly as he picked up another syringe, this time filled with a white, milky substance. Despite the faint bleeding of the cut from the last needle, Hojo plunged the new needle into the swabbed skin, only a few millimeters from where the last needle entered the general area. With the insertion of the new chemicals, the area started to show signs of bruising. The computer whirred and beeped as it collected the appropriate statistics.

"…As long as he gets what he deserves…" Hojo wiped away the blood, sweat, and pus that had started to collect in the general area where the injections took place and bandaged the forearm of his subject hastily with some white gauze. He circled the table briskly, adjusting the tray of syringes accordingly, and swabbed at the other forearm. "…Suppose I better correct this little oversight…" The tray started the clear as one by one, the syringes were used and then discarded for sanitary processing later. "…After this…Subject A Code S and Subject B Code Z…Project J…"

Deep within the confines of his mind, Cloud tried in vain to block out the sounds of the raspy coos and whispers of the grotesque voice that had gradually started to swell in volume, promising him of false warmth and love. He never even noticed the green haze at the edge of his mind, slowly locking away those precious few memories of his past.

* * *

As to his promise, Hojo did not keep Strife in the laboratory as long as he normally would have. Disoriented and woozy, Strife stumbled down the corridor leading away from the main laboratories of the SOLDIER barracks, his arms throbbing agonizingly beneath the stained bandages. Fumbling with his pockets, he had just found his keycard when a sudden wave of vertigo plagued him, forcing him to lean against the wall as his own means of grounding himself in a world that appeared to tilt and distort with every blink of his eyelids. Panting and gasping, his heartbeat sounding thunderous in his ears, Strife barely managed to push the correct keys to command the elevator door to open.

Most of the time Hojo had asked assistants to escort him to his room after the experiments, but this impromptu session had been suspiciously shorter than the rest. He slumped bonelessly against the walls of the circular elevator compartment, finding a tiny bit of relief as the coolness of the metal soothed his heated skin—to any normal person, his hands would have felt obscenely cold, along with the rest of his body. The elevator slowed to a stop at the appropriate floor—the button signifying the number had been inspected closely for ten seconds by Strife's exhausted and hazy eyes before a trembling finger reached up to push it. The sole occupant of the elevator sighed gratefully when the contraption did not jerk when it stopped, and then staggered from the compartment before the doors closed.

_One foot…In front of the other…_ His mantra kept him from collapsing on the vacant hallway. The floor housed only a handful of people, most of whom were likely to be found resting soundly in their beds, toiling behind a desk, or leading a squadron out on foreign fields. Strife did not want anyone, particularly from the elite of the SOLDIER department, to discover him in such a pathetic state, and supposed he should be thankful that he was returning to his own apartment at nearly midnight. Besides, he doubted he could respond properly when that voice—the voice at the deepest corners of his mind that called itself 'Mother'—whispered to him nonstop. (2)

A sound caught his attention and he weakly jerked his head upwards.

"Spike?"

_Just my luck…_thought Strife. He had forgotten that Zack would probably have stayed at Sephiroth's apartment since his departure, discussing his bizarre—no doubt somewhat insane—behavior. Caution had advised him to keep from acting too suspiciously until he had better defined this world, but he had already failed miserably.

"Spike? You okay?"

Zack's hand was on his shoulder. He desperately wanted to confide in this man that had shown him only genuine concern, this man whom his heart begged for him to trust. _Maybe…Maybe Zack can make her go away…_

\…child…you need…not him…\

Strife heard 'Mother' beckon to him, brutally telling him that all he needed was her, that others were unnecessary if they wanted to force them apart. He struggled to quiet the voice, but 'Mother' merely got upset, tingeing the edges of his vision with green even as bloodlust soared through his bloodstream like quicksilver.

Strife tried to control 'Mother', but his struggles—due to the presence of Zack—fuelled her displeasure until his head throbbed unbearably at trying to hold her at bay. He growled up warningly at Zack, vaguely recalling the fact that he probably looked as threatening as a drowned baby chocobo with his bloodshot eyes and his ruffled appearance. As predicted, Zack remained completely unmoved by his attempt to glare.

"You look horrible! What—"

"Leave me alone," snarled Strife as he jerked his shoulder away from Zack, wincing as the abrupt movement caused surges of agony to flare up throughout his body. Gritting his teeth, he pushed Zack away and doggedly wobbled his way down the corridor. His heart pounded heavily in his chest as 'Mother' hissed loudly in irritation for being ignored, and he knew that he _must not__succumb_ to 'Mother'.

"Spike! What's wrong with you? Stop being so goddamn stubborn and stupid!" Zack had tried to impede his way again. On an impulse, Strife swung out an arm, but his fist was easily caught by the First Class SOLDIER. "It's not gonna kill you to let others help you!"

"Shut up!" Strife struggled to wrench his arm from Zack's unyielding grasp.

\Child!\

Strife gasped and clutched at his head with his free hand. 'Mother' was demanding blood, demanding it because he was disobedient. Using Zack's fleeting shift from anger to concern, he swung out a leg and caught Zack across the abdomen, watching with brief satisfaction that his kick had been powerful enough to fling the First Class SOLDIER away from him and into a wall—creating cracks in the concrete. Before Zack could reach him again, Strife broke out into a run, barely managing to slam his apartment door shut in Zack's face. The exertion caused his nausea to overwhelm him, and he raced to the bathroom before sinking to his knees in front of the toilet, violently heaving. Green bile erupted from his mouth, the MAKO-laden vomit burning his esophagus. His nails dug into the porcelain sides and scratched the smooth surface. The pain and vertigo forced him to heave dryly for the next few agonizing minutes.

With a soft groan, he pushed himself away from the toilet bowl, not wanting to smell or see the disgusting mess whirling in the foul water. His back connected with the wall of the bathroom, and he labored to regain his breath again. Saliva and bile dribbled down the corner of his mouth, and he reached up with a wobbly hand to wipe away the trail before the liquid splashed either onto his clothing or the pristinely white tiles of the floor.

His consciousness started to drift, and he shivered, hating the MAKO for making his skin burn excruciatingly before the chemicals filled his veins with coldness. He vaguely heard the pounding at his door and the shouting of someone familiar.

_I can't let her…_thought Strife before his eyes drooped shut and he fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

"Zachary."

Zack was furious, and Sephiroth's stern gaze only fuelled his anger.

"Stop making such ruckus. You'll wake the other SOLDIERs."

"We need a mission."

"What?" Zack looked at Sephiroth with almost a hint of desperation.

"It doesn't matter where or what. Hojo keeps getting his hands on him. He needs to get away from him for a while."

"And what, do you propose, shall be a mission critical enough to require the services of two generals? The entirety of ShinRa practically already knows the battling capabilities of both Strife and I by now."

"Just say we need to learn how to work together."

"Zachary—"

"Seph."

Sephiroth sighed, feeling the beginnings of a headache. He knew when Zack made up his mind, nothing short of dying could stop the man from getting and doing what he wants.

"Very well…I shall see what I can do."

"Thank you."

* * *

Zack rubbed at his arm as he stumbled into Sephiroth's apartment at nearly eleven at night, his bumbling footsteps causing Sephiroth to look up from the piles of papers he had stacked in front of him—mission papers, as per his promise to the black-haired man. His nose wrinkled as he smelled the distinctly pungent odor that defined MAKO, and walked briskly over to where Zack stood, a half-vacant stare present in the normally energetic eyes. While he had known Zack loved to skip out on paperwork as much as possible, he should have known better than to assume that the arrival of a new test subject would mean a canceling of appointments, impromptu or scheduled, with Hojo.

"Shower?" questioned Sephiroth softly as he gently took hold of the arm that was not wrapped up in gauze. Zack nodded once, and Sephiroth slowly led the disoriented teenager towards his bathroom.

"How long were you kept?"

"The whole fuckin' day." Zack gingerly stripped himself of his clothing. Even as a First Class SOLDIER, with years of exposure to MAKO and other chemicals, Zack was always drained by the end of a session with Hojo—unavoidable, but unfortunate.

"And you're still on your feet?" Sephiroth turned on the tap, making sure the temperature of the water was tolerable for a person still adapting to new infusions of MAKO.

"I slept through i'all. I didn't want'a sleep more." Zack stepped into the bathtub and sunk gratefully into the water, with Sephiroth watching close by in case Zack should slip. It had been an unspoken code between them—ever since they had became friends—that should one remain mostly conscious after a meeting with Hojo, they would watch over the other until the other had fully recovered.

"Anesthetics?" Sephiroth quickly retrieved his papers from the living room before slipping back into the bathroom once again, making sure not to let Zack out of his sight for more time than he could allow.

"Sed'tives." Sephiroth shifted his attention from the papers in his hands to Zack's violet eyes, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

"He hadn't resorted to sedatives to restrain us for a while." Zack shrugged his shoulders—in what he hoped had been a nonchalant gesture, except for that stinging pain through his entire back—and pried the bandaging away from his arm. Zack grimaced as he inspected the bruised and scratched arm.

"Jus' 'njections. Nothin' else." Sephiroth discerned that Zack's speech was becoming gradually more slurred, and watched as Zack's eyelids, despite the teenager's best efforts, flutter shut against faintly flushed cheeks.

"Zachary."

"Huh?" Zack's eyes blinked open, but they were bleary.

"If you prefer not to drown in my bathtub, I would suggest you either keep awake or go to bed."

"'Snice," mumbled Zack as he dunked his head briefly, hoping the water will rouse him. The heat temporarily jumpstarted his mind. "Whacha got'ere?"

"The preemptive reports and scouting statistics for possible missions."

"Oh. Whacha doin' it 'ere for?"

"I thought I might as well sift through these to find the mission you requested." Zack grinned up at Sephiroth, and, despite the fatigue in those violet eyes, a small speck of happiness flickered through their depths.

"You're such'a goo' B F."

"B F?"

"You know. Bes' frien'. Boyfrien'. Wha'ever."

Sephiroth shook his head at Zack's antics, but remained silent. Zack yawned.

"Lemme out, you borin' block'a ice." Sephiroth dropped the papers neatly onto the counter of the bathroom sink before bending down to help Zack out of the bathtub.

"D'ja find anythin'?" Zack grunted as he wrapped a towel around his waist, too exhausted to dry any part of his body that required more effort than necessary. He stumbled towards Sephiroth's bed and flopped down gratefully into the fluffy sheets and the soft mattress, burying his face eagerly into those heavenly pillows.

"I might have found a suitable one." Sephiroth repositioned Zack's limbs around so the latter rested more fully on the bed; he knew Zack was a restless sleeper—even after a laboratory session—and did not particularly care to wake up in the middle of the night to bodily move Zack back onto the bed. "Flip over. I don't want you to suffocate in your sleep."

Zack grumbled sleepily before flopping onto his back. Within moments, Sephiroth could hear soft snores emitting from between the parted lips of his temporary roommate. Sephiroth knew that Hojo currently has the upper hand, but sometimes he just could not help the sudden, undeniable urge to tear that madman apart limb by limb.

* * *

When Sephiroth awoke the next morning, his joints and muscles were stiff beyond belief, compliments of spending an entire night sitting nearly upright on the sofa. Zack was in the kitchen, sipping a cup of freshly brewed coffee, and smiled brightly at Sephiroth when he heard the other man shift on the leather couch.

"Mornin'!" greeted Zack as he poured out another cup of coffee and handed it over to the silver-haired general, who accepted the proffered beverage.

"What time is it?" Sephiroth took a sip of the coffee and found it agreeable.

"Six."

"Hn."

"So…" Sephiroth snorted at Zack, who acted the part of being the ever inquisitive—and greedy, in his opinion—puppy.

"Here. A-week-and-a-half to two week long mission. Western continent, northwestern quadrant. We shall be escorting nine ShinRa technicians to Rocket Town for the final preparatory work to be done on Rocket 'ShinRa Number 26'. The Space Program is scheduled to be completed within a week or so, and the launch a day or two afterwards," informed Sephiroth as he handed the files over to Zack, who grinned from ear to ear.

"Sounds pretty important," agreed Zack as he read the details. "And…um…dangerous?"

"…Of course…Who wouldn't want to escort a group of absolutely brainless scientists while they marvel at the unpolluted country air…" Sephiroth mumbled into his coffee, and Zack laughed as he caught the sarcasm behind the older man's complaint.

"I suppose I shall go tell Spike?"

Before Sephiroth could respond, Zack was already out the door.

* * *

The door to Strife's apart was open before Zack could even land a hand on it, and he blinked before smiling pleasantly at Strife.

"Morning', Spike!"

"You take too many liberties, Lieutenant." Strife left the door open, but did not invite the other man in. While Zack did not exactly know what to expect after the attack two days previous, he had not really thought Strife would act so distant and composed around him. Zack shrugged and walked through the partially open doorway.

The light over hanging the dinning room table was the only source of illumination in the entire apartment, and Zack mused that Strife lived like a vampire.

"If you want anything to eat, help yourself in the kitchen." Strife had taken a seat at the table and resumed his work on the piles of paper in front of him. "I hope you don't mind, but I have decided to oversee the cadets—seeing as how your paperwork seems to pile up in front of your desk without end."

"You didn't have to do that, Spike," grinned Zack as he plopped down in the seat by Strife, looking at the completed reports and realizing, to his chagrin, that the secretaries down on first floor would probably praise Strife's neat writing compared to his own chicken scrawl. He mentally shrugged. He never did understand why ShinRa hired secretaries and instructors and then shoved the random offenses and cadet scores on the higher ranking officers. After all, SOLDIER is only interested in the best. "And no thanks. I've already had my daily ration of coffee and toast. Well, if you can call that black sludge they feed to everyone coffee…"

'Mother' had been pleasantly quiet. The words on the pages quieted her voice.

"Why are you here then, Lieutenant?" Strife did not look up from his paperwork. Zack morbidly thought that the boy looked bloodless in the artificial lighting, with the blond hair glowing almost white and the pale face donning equally pale lips.

"Well, the ShinRa Company is about to launch a Space Program in Rocket Town, and thought that it might be good and all if we—you, me, and Seph—accompanied some techs there." Strife merely hummed as he absorbed the information before signing a report. Then his hand stilled.

"Rocket Town?"

"Yeah! You ever been there before?"

"No. I believe it's located on the other continent?"

"Northwestern quadrant." Zack watched contently as that bent head nodded, allowing the strands of hair to glow golden instead of the lifeless white. He had often thought that Sephiroth's hair looked strangely monotonous but _fitting_ on the man, even though the general looked incredibly daunting in the darkness because of it. He remembered catching a glimpse of those silver strands during a survey through burning rubble—the aftermath of a MAKO reactor malfunction—and shuddering to see the flames reflected on those strands, making those catlike eyes appear more blood red than green.

"-tenant!" barked Strife, and Zack could only grin sheepishly when he realized the other had asked him a question while he had been pondering about _hair_, of all things!

"Sorry, sorry. What was that again?"

"When are we leaving?"

"Today, at 0900. Better get packing! I hear it's cold there this time of year." Strife made no move to respond. "…Brick wall."

If Strife heard the comment, he did not act as such, much to Zack's disappointment. Nothing seemed to have gotten through the boy except for the mission facts and details.

"Well, I'm off! See you later, Spike!" Nothing but the sound of his own footsteps and the scratching of the pen on paper filled his ears as Zack exited the apartment.

* * *

With motion sickness came 'Mother's' voice, and despite the edge he felt at hearing that raspy hum at the back of his brain, Strife could not help but feel comforted by it because it made the nausea lessen while the transport vehicle bumped along the road from Costa del Sol to Rocket Town. During the first leg of the trip, when 'Mother' had not spoken to him, he could almost feel the bile rising up through his throat, threatening to spew out of his mouth should the car swerve or jolt too much. He had rested his forehead on his knees because he did not want the others to see his sickness, but he knew Zack and Sephiroth noticed because Zack had offered him motion sickness pills—which he declined the second time when the first pill failed to soothe his stomach. At least Zack had shown the proper etiquette when he offered the useless item, but those pairs of eyes—staring into the back of his skull because he did not resemble the image of perfection—grated at his nerves and pride.

When three Valrons attacked the convoy, he eagerly hopped off the back of the truck and withdrew one of his swords. With 'Mother's' encouragement, he sunk his blade into that tough purple hide without restraint, basking in the sensation of freshly-drawn blood gushing over his exposed skin. When he turned his bloodlust eyes towards the other two demons, he wanted to frown at the sight of Sephiroth gliding Masamune effortlessly through one of the other monsters while Zack slashed the last across the chest with his Buster Sword. 'Mother', however, cooed at him and promised him future battles. He felt ashamed of himself for not even realizing he had obeyed 'Mother' without a second thought, and he shut out 'Mother's' voice the rest of the journey even as he felt the queasiness returning. (3)

Rocket Town, he duly noted as he clambered off the truck on shaky legs, was a fairly prosperous, quaint little town out on the grassy plains some hundred miles away from the Nibel mountain chain. The main attraction of the town, naturally, was the abnormal structure towering over much of the houses at the back of the town, with the words 'ShinRa No. 26' painted proudly in white on its side. The citizens were absolutely thrilled at the arrival of the ShinRa convoy, murmuring amidst themselves about the achievement of some 'Captain's' lifelong dreams and the immortalization of the town as the founders of a brighter future. Strife did not pay particular attention to his surroundings as he followed Sephiroth and Zack to the designated house mentioned in the mission report, and therefore was startled when a loud, exuberant voice enthusiastically greeted them and invite them all in.

"Shera! Get them some tea!" barked the sandy-haired, slightly bearded man, who, to Strife's confusion, was wearing casual civilian clothes—a comfortable sky blue shirt, a neatly tied white scarf, a pair of goggles donned on top of his head, and a pair of brown pants. He would have thought that the man would have cared about his state of attire in the presence of ShinRa's top technicians and, not to mention, the great general Sephiroth, but supposed appearances little mattered when the program was nearly completed. The man talked animatedly with the technicians and Strife blocked out the conversation—seeing as how he did not understand the jargon.

'Mother' had been oddly subdued after the attack, and Strife was glad for the respite.

"Shera! Where's the fuckin' tea?" snapped the man irritably, though the bite was absent from his tone. The lovely woman, dressed in a clean white lab coat and hiding her face behind a pair of glasses that seemed unbefitting of her, jumped in embarrassment and whipped out a tray to put the filled teacups on it. She quickly distributed the tea among those seated at the table before wandering over to Sephiroth, who stood near the entrance of the household. Smiling, she skirted her way lastly to Strife.

Strife caught a glimpse of silver on the ring finger of her right hand as she offered the last remaining teacup on the tray. She flushed—in what Strife assumed was a mixture of both embarrassment and appreciation—as she gazed at her ring. Despite the fact that Strife did not appear to be the friendly type (unlike Zack, who eagerly joined in the conversation at the table despite the fact that he himself probably did not understand much of the jargon either), Shera leaned against the wall immediately to Strife's right.

"We have been engaged for a few years, you know," informed Shera as she rotated the ring with her thumb and index finger, as if trying to memorize the way the ring felt. "I doubt we'll really ever get married though…I think I'm only a mediocre scientist compared to Captain, and he always criticizes me for being too slow…" She gave a small laugh, as if remembering something fond. She looked at Strife then, and gnawed at her bottom lip. "It's been his lifelong dream to go up into space…I don't ever want the program to fail. But…Is it too selfish to wish that he does not to go up into space?"

"Why would you not want him to?" questioned Strife, his voice barely audible past the din in the dining room. He did not look at Shera.

"Well…I'm just worried that something bad will happen on the way up. Last night, when I was doing a check-up on the rocket, I noticed that there might be a problem with the oxygen tank. I brought it up with Captain, but he didn't think it would be too big of an issue. The launch is in a few days, but I don't know if I'll manage to fix the problem by then...I…I couldn't bare it if something happened to Captain…Ah…I'm terribly sorry! I didn't mean to ramble on about my problems in front of you!" She departed quickly, her face fully flushed. Strife looked into his teacup, slightly frowning.

When Zack saw the contemplative look on Strife's face, he grinned, excused himself, and wandered over to where Strife stood.

"What's up, Spike?" Strife looked up from his tea, and then dropped his gaze again.

"Nothing."

"Miss Shera looked like she enjoyed talking to you. That doesn't sound like nothing to me," grinned Zack as he winked slyly at Strife. Strife shrugged and took a sip of his tea, which had cooled during the time Shera spoke to him. "Come on, Spike. Talk to me, will ya?"

"What's there to talk about?" Zack pouted.

"Anything! Everything! There's gotta be something going on inside of your pretty chocobo head—" At this, Strife glared, but Zack continued unperturbed. "Let's see, how about…'Hey, Zack. How are you enjoying yourself here?' or 'Zack! I love you! Let's elope and have mad monkey sex!'" Zack laughed when Strife blinked at him, disturbed.

Zack filled the rest of the evening with idle conversation. Even if Strife barely responded to his comments outside of a few glances, Zack smiled inwardly as he watched those tense shoulders gradually relax and a less guarded, though still distant and cold, look entire the boy's blue eyes.

* * *

Three days later, Cid announced to the town of the promised launch of the rocket the next day. Strife watched, out of the corner of his eyes, as Shera paled considerably at the declaration, her hands shaking as she clutched her clipboard of notes and reports closely to her. Dark circles were already bagging underneath her eyes, making her appear disturbingly owlish and disheveled, and Strife thought he saw a glimpse of tears at the corners of her bloodshot eyes. The look did not suit her, but no one seemed to notice.

That night, as Strife laid in bed in the Highwind household, he heard the gentle rustling of clothing and the quiet self-mutterings as Shera dressed herself for another sleepless night in the rocket. Her footsteps were unsteady. He doubted anyone else currently residing in the house heard her besides himself—after all, Zack and Sephiroth rested with the rest of the technicians in the local inn while he himself guarded three of them. When they first arrived, Zack had, for some reason, really wanted to room with him, but after Strife's adamant refusal, the sleeping arrangement had been worked out. Shera's footsteps echoed past the door to the guest bedroom he occupied.

"I'll make sure…Even if I…I'll make sure…"

In the morning, Strife found Shera still missing, but everyone was too busy with and excited by the launch to notice her disappearance, the chaos further fueled by the presence of the ShinRa news crew that had arrived the previous day. The gathering of the townspeople out on the streets, eager for the event of their lifetimes, certainly made it easy to forget about the absence of a single person.

* * *

Sephiroth had been disgruntled when he and Zack escorted the technicians out of the local inn and through the amassing crowd of cheering onlookers. Zack knew Sephiroth did not care too much about the celebrations: the general found it simply annoying to subject himself to the stares of awe and adoration that most of the villagers had when they saw him, no matter how many times they had seen him already. He, however, did not know the cause of the other's annoyance laid deeper within his psyche.

After a brief half hour conference, Cid adjusted his clothing and stubbed out his cigarette, which did nothing to calm his nerves.

"Looks like we're all ready. Let's mosey!" announced Zack.

"Fuck! Who fuckin' moseys anywhere?" grumbled Cid indignantly, and, at everyone's (minus Sephiroth and Strife) laughter, he felt the anxiety drain away from his stomach.

The door was open. Cid was about to take a step outside. Strife knew something disastrous was about to happen.

"Hold off the launch."

Everyone turned around to gaze at him, and he felt surprised that he had spoken at all. He could feel blood threatening to paint his cheeks a dusky red.

"What's that, Spike?" If the situation had not been so awkward, Zack would have grinned proudly that Strife had spoken without being prompted by others.

"Hold off the launch, at least for another day or so," repeated Strife. He looked up to see Sephiroth at the other end of the room and he shuddered at the indecipherable expression on the other general's face, almost…almost as if the other _knew_, but Strife doubted it.

"What the fuck for?" growled Cid, who wanted to turn around and disappear into the crowd but stayed because the boy had been introduced as a general. He knew that he needed ShinRa's support if he wanted funding for future projects.

"Shera is there. If you launch now, she'll die."

"So? We'll just fuckin' get her out and then launch. Why the fuck do I need to wait 'nother fuckin' day?"

"Spike?" Strife wanted to respond to them, but how does he explain to them the anxiety gnawing at the pit of his stomach when he did not even know what was about to happen? All he knew was that his instincts screamed at him to _do something_.

"Shall you trust in Shera, or shall you care more about your pride than her concerns?" questioned Sephiroth, and Cid paled when he heard the commanding voice of the general. "Surely General Strife has valid reasons for wanting the temporary postponing of the launch."

The technicians all turned to look expectantly at Cid, each and every single one of them believing that their expertise will amount to more than what a single, no-name scientist could possibly ever do. Cid searched his pockets for a cigarette and a lighter, but paused when his right ring finger accidentally struck against a button on his jacket.

"I've waited for so fuckin' long for this…" The technicians smiled smugly to themselves. "So what's one more fuckin' day, right?" Cid shrugged and apologized to the townspeople as he exited the premise to find Shera.

Zack observed the features of Sephiroth and knew. The 'Illness' was coming back, and Strife…Strife was somehow involved.

* * *

The launch happened on a crystal clear, absolutely gorgeous day, as if Gaia Herself approved of it. While onlookers watched the flames of the rocket slowly disappear into the sky, Shera could only smile, remembering that scratchy but loud proclamation Cid made before the countdown.

_/Shera! Once this baby lands, you better be fuckin' prepared to get married! I don't want your slow ass making me fuckin' wait!/_

A few hundred miles away from Rocket Town, a brown-haired girl dropped, in surprise, the remote control of practically the only television set in town.

"Cloud…"

* * *

Notes:

(1) I can't quite imagine using Cure materia for cuts to your hands. I liken it to using Cure1 when you got a paper cut, but since Cloud's cuts were graver…Regardless, Cure materia away for everything, right? I don't think many would voluntarily keep potions handy in their apartment either.

(2) The 7th floor houses only the First Class SOLDIERs and the generals. There are perhaps a total of eight or nine First Class SOLDIERs at best, thus the residency of the 7th floor can be calculated to be approximately ten or eleven people. Most of their rooms are located conveniently close by the elevator. Since the floors below all typically have approximately a hundred rooms or so, the majority of the rooms—essentially from the 5th floor and upwards—contain luxury items: in other words, large apartments with adjoining training rooms. The cadet housing covers the second to fourth floor; basic-level instructors and Third Class SOLDIERs on the fifth floor; and higher-level instructors and Second Class SOLDIERs on the sixth floor. The first floor is designated for the offices of temporary ShinRa employees in the SOLDIER department, the instructors, and the Second and Third Class SOLDIERs. The eighth floor hosts the offices of the elite officers of the SOLDIER department, and the basement houses the main laboratories. There is no housing in the SOLDIER barracks for the grunts and scientists who are not wholly associated with SOLDIER.

(3) Their travel route involves roads that do not exist in the game. It includes a lot of mountains though, and probably lasted for three to four days.

* * *

A/N: I've had a lot of problems with this chapter, thus reviews and feedback are welcome.


	4. Chapter 3 : Heavenly

Disclaimer: Dirge of Cerberus and Crisis Core belongs to Square Enix.

A/N: I apologize for the delay, but I had many personal complaints about the chapter, particularly on the presentation of Zack and Cloud. The editing took awhile, but hopefully you shall enjoy this chapter.

A/N: This chapter is written while under the influence of D'espairs Ray.

* * *

**Requiem**

Chapter 3: Heavenly

* * *

The cadets gazed at each other nervously even as the instructor shouted the orders to the daily training exercises. The majority tuned out the voice of the instructor as the latter reminded them of the appropriate rules and regulations of the dueling—seeing as how the class was mostly practice and therefore should follow all safety procedures strictly unless specifically told otherwise. As the cadets meandered their way to the side racks to choose their weapons, they gulped and tried to prevent their limbs from trembling due to suffocating anxiety. No one had expected General Strife—of all people!—to show up unannounced to watch their performance while they were mentally unprepared! This sort of sordid business had previously been handled by First Class SOLDIER Zachary Fair, who, while still impressive in the eyes of the cadets, had been so friendly and outgoing that most forget that the was the officer evaluating them.

The silence was nerve-wrecking as the cadets faced off against each other, each praying that he or she would not screw up during the duel, for impressing the general would mean an automatic 'PASS' into SOLDIER—or so they would love to believe. But if that fact alone did not send them into a near mental breakdown, then it was the fact that they had absolutely no idea what the general expected of them, especially not after they had all witnessed the extraordinary spar between the two generals.

"On my mark!" bellowed the training instructor, pitying the cadets by deciding that this sort of exposure to the elite officers will be good for the cadets should they continue in their studies. The cadets snapped to attention in front of their designated partners and raised their weapons into the respective offensive stances—defensive for those rare few who either did not trust in their abilities to fight or preferred to let their opponents make the first move. "Begin!" commanded the instructor when he observed that all the cadets looked ready.

A moment later, the training gym room was filled with the sound of numerous pairs of wooden weapons clanging together as the cadets rushed at each other under the close scrutiny of the general. While the cadets fought with all the spirit and skill they could muster, Strife mentally evaluated those possible few that might garner an ounce of his future attention, but blinked when he suddenly registered a flash of shockingly scarlet hair at the corner of his eyes. He focused on the sight of a decently built cadet who expertly wielded a stick, the weapon being a club of equal proportions lengthwise.

The graceful, nearly casual movements displayed by the red-haired boy put all the rest of the cadets on the floor to shame—especially the partner, whose attacks were easily parried or blocked. Strife watched with a hint of a smile—hidden from view underneath the heavy silk scarf wrapped around his neck—as the red-head effortlessly defeated his opponent after apparently decidedly he had humored the other for far too long. At the sounds of the wooden rod striking the tender flesh of the victim and the weight of a fairly muscular body thudding against the mat from the impact, Strife stood up from the side observatory chair and approached the pair he had been observing. The general barely noticed—or rather, chose to ignore—the abrupt stillness and quietness that slipped over the room as the cadets cased their duels to salute to their superior officer. Strife wanted to laugh: he was the shortest and nearly the scrawniest of all in the room, yet these boys showed such respect and _fear_ to him. He briefly wondered if he would have been bullied for his miniature stature without his rank, but pushed away the train of thought as he reached his destination.

"Your name, cadet," requested Strife, his voice muffled but undoubtedly clear even over the rustling of clothing, the gasping for breath, and the shuffling of feet by the other cadets.

"Reno—" (1)

"Reno, is it?" interjected Strife rudely, and the cadet raised an eyebrow at the general in a careless, almost bored, gesture, but Strife knew he held the attention of the other teenager. "How about a little spar between us?"

"Whatever, yo," replied the cadet as he shrugged his shoulders, but the gesture looked tense even to the untrained eye. Strife turned to the cadet to his immediate right to acquire a wooden sword—slightly old and decrepit, but useful enough for his purposes.

It was not much of a duel, really. When Reno chose to assume a defensive stance as a precaution, Strife had thrust his sword forward in a series of lightning fast strikes that knocked Reno's stick out of his hands within the short five second of the duel. Strife did nod as the red-head approvingly, however—much to the confusion of the cadets—because Reno had managed to parry and dodge a good four or five hits before he could no longer keep up with the attacks.

"Retrieve your weapon, cadet." Reno made a noncommittal-noise—his hand smarted sharply—and bent to pick up the fallen stick. "This time, come at me."

Reno charged forward as soon as his hand touched his weapon, but his offensive was easily and quickly broken despite the fact that his third strike would have grazed the general's forehead if he had not hesitated, suddenly seized with the irrational fear of angering the general. Within moments, his weapon was once again knocked out of his hands, but this time he tripped over his feet while trying to avoid a strike at his head. Reno looked up at Strife as the tip of the wooden sword rested at his throat, and he—along with the onlookers—realized how _easy_ Strife was going on him.

"Fight me with the intent to kill, cadet," frowned the general as he withdrew his weapon and lowered it onto his side. "On the battlefield, your enemy will not be so lenient on you."

"But, sir, the instructor told us not to go overboard, yo," responded Reno when said instructor made no effort to excuse him from the general's wrath.

"The rules were meant for the safety of other cadets, not your superiors…particularly not the one who specifically asked for the duel," murmured Strife as he watched Reno stand up while dusting off and adjusting his clothing. The cadet rubbed at his sore hand momentarily before bending back down to pick up his fallen weapon once more.

Strife narrowed his eyes in contemplation of the method employed by the instructors in teaching the cadets the basics of close combat. Surely it would be appropriate to allow these duels as all-out sessions to weed out those worthless cadets through discouragement rather than failure of the SOLDIER examinations? After all, the list of casualties and the severity of the injuries should be diminished in these duels—with wooden weapons, no less—than in the physical portion of the examinations. 'Mother' hummed in disagreement, because she believed his energy should not be _wasted_ on caring about these insignificant beings—

His thoughts were disrupted as Reno once again rushed forward, and the general took a step back to dodge a well-aimed strike at his shoulder. Reno twisted around and brought his stick down on his opponent only to have it blocked. Even though his arms and legs were starting to ache from having exceeded his limits for far too long, Reno continued his onslaught of attacks, but a sharp pain blooming in his arm caused him to drop his weapon and reach up instinctively to his other arm to cover the flesh where he was struck. _Just when I thought I had hit something!_ thought Reno as he rubbed at his arm, where a nasty bruise was starting to form, causing him to wince when his massaging actually made the pain flare instead of subside.

"Congratulations," praised Strife as he handed back his wooden sword to the speechless cadet he had borrowed it from—who had clumsily attempted to salute and utter out a 'Sir' without making a fool out of himself. "You aren't completely worthless, Reno."

With that, Strife exited the room without a single glance backwards. The cadets broke out into heated whispers: some moaned about the high expectations of the general and the high probability, they were sure, of failing the SOLDIER examinations; others, however, complained about the cruelty of the general to show up out of nowhere and force them to miss their 'golden opportunity' because of lack of preparation. All Reno could do, however, was grin.

A single strand of golden hair, unseen by all who did not know what to look for, lay on the training mat where the general had stood.

* * *

He did not really know why he had decided to observe the cadets that afternoon instead of cooping himself up in his office, as he had done for the past few days, but the little trip had managed to pacify 'Mother', strangely enough. However, as he passed through the crowded hallways of the administrative floor—the crowds eagerly parting before him, much to his amusement—he started to crave the words on the pages while 'Mother's' words flickered through his consciousness.

His footsteps stilled outside of Sephiroth's office and his eyes darted quickly to his side to survey the glass panes separating him from the other general. 'Mother's' voice was absent in his mind, but 'her' presence was overbearing all the same. Out of the corner of his eyes, Strife observed that the silver-haired man sat alone in his office and appeared to be pouring over some maps and charts, though the careless manner with which those brilliant green eyes skimmed over the sheets of paper spread out over the desk suggested the man was not actually paying attention to the reports.

Strife felt incredibly drawn to Sephiroth, and supposed that it should come as no surprise: the man was gorgeous and exuded _power_, two characteristics, he was sure, most would love to possess and exploit. Still, he wondered why he felt the attraction at all, especially since neither of them preferred to interact with each other more than was necessary—unless in the company of Zack, in which case they conferred only as much as was provoked without completely aggravating the black-haired lieutenant (which, unfortunately, was more than either could bare). 'Mother', ever since the trip to Rocket Town, had encouraged him to befriend Sephiroth, and it was gradually getting harder to distinguish his own preferences from '_her'_ thoughts and desires. There was _something_ about this man, though, that always made him gaze at the closed door of Sephiroth's office before straying off once again, typically with facts and figures circling his head to subdue 'Mother'.

"It has been confirmed that Space Rocket 'ShinRa Number 26' has exploded during…" (2)

Strife paused in front of the television in the waiting room as he registered the meaning of the words he had just heard. Despite the hustle and bustle by disgruntled and sleep-deprived secretaries, Strife tuned in to the blaring of the speakers as the newscaster continued to speak. No one else seemed to have cared about the news bulletin, either worried about completing paperwork or meandering around the general—who happened to stop in the middle of the corridor for no reason!

"…believe that a volatile substance, currently named the 'Huge Materia', had reacted violently to the MAKO used to fuel the rocket…"

'Mother' hummed quietly at the back of his mind, and he could almost taste the delight 'she' radiated.

"Uncertain at the moment if there are any survivors, but an escape pod is reported to have been released. Rocket control administrators at ShinRa Company have speculated that the explosion could have short circuited the radio…"

"General Strife."

Strife turned around, startled by the rich baritone voice, and came face to face with Sephiroth.

"Can we talk?" Strife nodded almost immediately—grateful that the presence of the other general distracted 'Mother'—and followed wordlessly as Sephiroth led the way out of the elite offices.

The rooftop of the SOLDIER barracks was strangely refreshing, with the cool afternoon air caressing his cheeks and the gentle breeze threading through his hair. The sun shone a dusky crimson as it descended into the horizon, and for a single glorious moment, the sky looked tainted with fresh blood and decayed flesh. He noticed that Sephiroth was watching him, almost as if appraising him in a different perspective, and brought himself out of his thoughts—or perhaps 'Mother's'.

"Zachary is under the impression that we should talk." Strife nodded, something unexplainable welling up inside of him from that statement.

"About what?"

"What do you know about her?" Sephiroth watched Strife expectantly as his fingertips brushed lightly over the warm, smooth leather of his coat. His hands felt oddly exposed without his customary gloves to cover up that shameful number on the back of his left hand. The tattoo on his right arm had faded away after years of experimentation, and Sephiroth wondered at Strife's case when he saw no visible numbers on the boy's arms or hands.

"Who?" Strife gritted his teeth and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and apprehension, the latter feeling he wished to have never existed in the first place because 'Mother' started to stir at his discomfort.

"Zachary, childishly enough, refers to her as the 'Illness', though I suppose that term can rightly be applied to her. I called her 'Mother' during the Wutaian War, a feat I'm certain even those your age have heard quite excessively of." Strife watched the darkening skies blanket over the features of the silver-haired general and shadow those eyes without ever dimming their beauty and brilliance—perhaps due to the MAKO burning through the other's bloodstream. "So, General Strife, I ask again: what do you know about her?"

"Nothing." The word sounded false and empty in his mind, but the word spoke the truth. He furrowed his eyebrows as his mind started to churn through the blank recesses of his mind, but _nothing_ seemed to remind him of 'Mother'.

"I see." Strife fidgeted when that intense gaze turned—pityingly?—on him.

"Why did you call me out here?" He wanted to berate himself for the stupidity of that statement.

"I believe I already told you the reason," murmured Sephiroth, averting his gaze when he discerned the unease in that body standing across the grounds. Strife seemed _younger_ every single time Sephiroth could perceive an ounce of insecurity in the boy.

That feeling welled up inside of him again, but a hot, overpowering anger suddenly clenched his stomach and spread throughout his body. "I don't need his concern, or yours." His own voice sounded strained in his ears, but 'Mother' whispered word of encouragement to him—some to befriend the other, and others to commend him for his devotion to 'her'. He suppressed a wince of annoyance as 'Mother' continued to whisper in his mind, and tried to quiet 'her' because the last time he had listened to 'her', he barely managed to battle past the deep bloodlust caused by the poisoned honey of 'Mother's' voice. He quickly recalled the mission reports he had read the previous day—something about a scouting trip with Zack into Midgar, where a terrorist group named 'AVALANCE' bombed ShinRa reactors and murdered innocent bystanders, claiming their work shall "save the planet".

"I suppose not, but Zachary believes you will eventually trust him—or us, since Zachary is too much of an optimist," shrugged Sephiroth dismissively after a few moments of silence.

"If he is so concerned…Why are you here instead of him?" 'Mother' sneered approvingly and he agreed with her grudgingly.

"Today is the anniversary of an event I believe only he has the right to tell you of. Regardless, it would delight him if you met him at whatever bar he decided to drown himself in and accompany him back to his quarters," stated Sephiroth flatly as he started heading towards the doorway to the rooftop stairs, deeming the meeting over.

"I'm to believe that I have to play escort to a drunken man?" asked Strife incredulously as he watched that elegant hair sway with the movements of the other general. He heard a soft, amused chuckle before those cat-like emerald eyes bore into his own again, making him wish he had not spoken at all.

"Alcohol clears our MAKO-enhanced systems faster than normal bodies, but Zachary knows how to keep to his limits. Mostly likely he'll call your office until you go mad from the noise of the phone ringing and find him at wherever he is." The way Sephiroth mentioned the information made Strife suspect that this sort of thing occurred quite often, and he briefly wondered how Zack had managed to reduce his superior officer to a pick-up boy without getting killed.

"The real question, I believe," hummed Sephiroth, sounding oddly amused, "is why _you_ haven't caused him any physical harm."

The question remained unanswered.

* * *

When he turned the knob to his office, he had been expecting a decent stack of paperwork on his desk, awaiting his perusal and written response. But curiously, an envelope, somewhat water-stained and wrinkled, sat on top of the pile of papers, drawing his immediate attention. His fingertips gingerly trailed across the wrinkles of the item before grasping the edges to turn the envelope around.

"Tifa Lockhart…" murmured Strife softly to himself as he read the name on the top left-hand corner of the envelope. The sound of those syllables made him feel warm, but 'Mother' did not seem to appreciate the fact that he could derive that sort of comfort from anyone but 'her'. Shrugging his shoulders, he ripped open the envelope, retrieved the thin piece of folded lined paper within, and unfolded the item after its extraction.

'_Dear Cloud,_

_'I'm not sure if you remember me anymore after all these years. After all, the last time we saw each over was when I'd just turned ten years old. I just wanted to write to you though, because we'd promised that when we got news of each other in the future, we'd try to contact one another._

_'I could only wish that we'd spent more time together in the past, that I'd been nicer to you, that the townspeople didn't resent you so much because of my mistake. Nine years of being childhood best friends can hardly be called enough time together, and I just want to see you again—'_

Strife dropped the letter back onto the top of his desk and averted his eyes from the text, squinting instead into the night lights of the city life sprawled across the landscape seen from his office window. His vision became blurred as he remembered soft brown hair and kind auburn eyes with a lively, youthful face. He did recall spending a portion of his past with her, but his mind seemed to resolve around two separate timelines, each portion of his subconscious dictating the other as false.

A sharp pain pierced his head, making him reach up to dig into and rub at his left temple, and 'Mother's' coos echoing at the back of his head, the noise gradually getting louder, made him forget about everything else. His eyes landed back onto the piece of paper, and he reached out tentatively with his hand again to touch the wrinkles of the letter, as if trying to reassure himself of its actual presence in the room.

He jerked his hand back, as if burned, when the telephone started to ring, and he turned startled eyes toward the loudly ringing object. Strife gulped thickly, letting the wails of the telephone fill up the oppressing silence of the room. He finally picked up the receiver when he realized that not only did the telephone continue to chime, but his mobile phone—_when did I get a cell phone?_—also started to vibrate in his pants pocket.

"What is it?" ventured Strife, his tone suggesting his displeasure at having been interrupted at a somewhat important personal matter.

"Spike! Come meet me at 'Cloud Nine'! If you leave the compound and take a left, take a right after you see this extremely crowded café and then walk for a few minutes. You'll be there in no time! Oh, and if you get lost, ask around. See ya!" With that, the phone flat-lined and Strife stood there blinking for a moment as he absorbed all the information Zack had just rambled to him in the course of a few seconds.

"'Cloud Nine', huh?" muttered Strife softly to himself as he picked up his jacket—compliments of Zack during their stay in Rocket Town—and headed out the door, all thoughts of the letter gone from his mind.

* * *

'Cloud Nine' appeared small and almost run-down compared to all the rest of the elegant, extravagant restaurants and clubs flashing gaudily nearby, but despite the impression from the first glance, the club remained fairly popular. Strife almost grimaced when he saw the long line of people—mostly young adults of some social stature—awaiting for their turn into the establishment, and thought about flashing his ShinRa identification if not for the doorman who suddenly gestured towards him. Strife shrugged inwardly as he stepped up to the burly, tall man, and craned his neck slightly to look fully into the deep brown eyes of the intimidating man.

"Zack's been waiting for ya," boomed the doorman when several customers standing in line shot envious glares at Strife, not quite realizing the boy's position in the most profitable and most powerful company in the world. Frequenters of the club turned away their stares and quelled their anger when they heard Zack's name mentioned, but the rest—those who have only recently been introduced to the club—continued to wonder at the significance of the name 'Zack'.

Strife merely nodded as the doorman pushed open the door, letting a huge burst of pounding music out into the open air. The blonde grunted in displeasure at the noise, but entered the tastefully decorated club nevertheless. As soon as the door closed behind him, someone grabbed his hand and dragged him away from the crowd of gyrating bodies. Strife barely managed to catch a glimpse of spiky black hair before his abductor slammed another door shut behind him.

Zack grinned amiably at Strife before taking a seat once again at the bar, and Strife noticed that the walls and the glass windows effectively shut out not only the noise from the rest of the club, but also the stares of the other occupants of the establishment. Only a few people were scattered around in the spacious, dimly lit room, the majority of which were comfortably seated in luxurious couches as they softly conversed. Strife returned his focus to the reason behind his visit to the club, and took a seat beside Zack while the other ordered some drinks—all containing some sort of alcohol—for the both of them.

"So, you must know _why_ you're here, right, Spike?" asked Zack after he had dispensed with the ordering.

"Not really," muttered Strife as he stared at the bartender's back, watching those skilled, calloused hands expertly retrieve the appropriate ingredients to be mixed into the drinks. In a few quick moments, a drink—light green in color with crystals scattered around the rim of the glass—was presented in front of him, causing him to stare at the proffered object in a slightly confused manner.

"Midgar doesn't really care too much about your age as long as places profit from your stay. So you better drink up or they might think I'm being a cheapskate or something!" grinned Zack as he watched Strife eye the drink uncertainly. He took a sip of his own drink as Strife picked up the glass gingerly and brought the beverage to his lips. Zack caught a glimpse of a tongue as Strife tilted the glass back slightly and took a small taste of the drink.

"Like it?" laughed Zack when Strife coughed a little at the sensation of the alcohol burning down his throat. A light flush crept up onto Strife's cheeks as warmth spread throughout his body, and Strife licked his lips to clean off any of the remaining salt that might have remained on them.

"It's…interesting," conceded Strife as he took another sip, this time letting the liquid linger a little in his mouth before swallowing. He could not remember the last time he tasted any sort of alcoholic beverage.

"As you know, today's my mom's birthday. And while I can't exactly go running off to Gongaga because of ShinRa policies, that doesn't stop me from finding a good cause for celebration!" grinned Zack cheekily, and Strife wanted to snort at Zack's behavior. "Now normally, I would just drag Seph wherever I wanted. But…Years of experience told me that he can get really…'unpleasant', to put it mildly, when I keep him away from his beloved work too long. So, I needed new company, and I guess that victim was you!"

"Lucky me…" grumbled Strife sarcastically, sounding rather disgruntled at the information. Zack slung an arm across Strife's shoulders and laughed boisterously, garnering the heated, disapproving glares of the other patrons in the room.

"Seriously, though…I'm sort of relieved I didn't have to call you a billion times just to get you to come. Truth to tell…" Zack leaned conspiratorially towards Strife's ear, and Strife suppressed a shiver when he felt the hot breath washing over his skin from the close proximity. "It really sucked when I had to ask to use the club phone because I was running out of pocket gil. Well, actually, it probably only sucked so much because the barmaid really wanted to get my number and me calling Seph apparently made me 'unavailable' in her eyes."

Strife supposed it was pleasant to listen to Zack tell stories about all the weird encounters he had during his days in Midgar, but Strife did not quite find it in his nature to answer all the questions posed by Zack in the course of their pseudo-conversation. Zack, for the most part, effectively filled the silence left by Strife, but Strife knew when to put in a word or two before the other start demanding longer sentences. Besides, some of the stories told had been so outrageous in nature that Strife reacted out of pure instinct, though Zack seemed to like it best when Strife smiled.

Strife felt slightly awkward to be able to feel so relaxed throughout the evening, especially since 'Mother' had such a violent reaction the last time he had been with Zack without the presence of Sephiroth. Strife absently watched Zack's lips move to form the words, and he could almost imagine the visible movements of the throat as air pushed through the esophagus. _Alive…_

Presently, Strife blinked as his eyes suddenly focused on the entirety of Zack's face—only a few inches away from his own—and he registered the oddity of seeing the MAKO-induced green taint the otherwise amethyst irises. _When was the last time I'd looked at someone else from so up close?_

"You know, if you keep going off into your own world in the middle of a conversation, people might think you hear voices in your head or something," grinned Zack cheekily, though his tone of voice sounded strange in Strife's ears. Zack leaned in closer to peer into Strife's eyes before laying a hand across Strife's forehead, and Strife could almost taste the hot breath being expelled through those moistened lips. Strife was grateful the flush from the alcohol mildly disguised his blush of embarrassment—though he could not be sure exactly _what_ he was embarrassed of.

"Nope, definitely not the alcohol. I doubt it could have really impacted your system that badly anyways! You know, you really should ignore whatever interesting thing it is that lives inside of your chocobo head and decide on what you want…" continued Zack vaguely. "Namely, paying attention to your host?"

"Sorry…" muttered Strife, though he really could not bring himself to sound entirely sincere in the sentiment. Zack suddenly grinned mischievously, and Strife narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the other man.

"Tell you what…for being such _lousy_ company tonight—" At this, Strife glared at Zack in displeasure—blaming Zack since the other dragged him out in the first place—but Zack merely shrugged off that heated look and continued on. "You—" Zack pointed a finger at Strife and poked him gently in the chest, right underneath the collarbone. "—Have to make it up to me with a date." Zack tried to look mildly intimidating after completing his "threat".

Strife did not even need to consider the "or else" part that typically followed such friendly teasing, nor did he particularly think he could withstand the pestering from Zack more than usual. Thus, grudgingly, Strife nodded his head and gave permission to Zack of the first date he had been on for as long as he could remember.

Strife had to wonder though…Why exactly did he feel compelled to listen to Zack?

* * *

Heavy rain clouds had been overhanging the skies of Midgar for a good few days, darkening the day and giving the polluted city a gloomy and dirty taint from the usually more vibrant appearance. Not even the brightly-lit buildings in the downtown region of the Top Plate managed to lift the sense of anxiety and depression that gripped every citizen's hearts at the thought of having more of these grotesque days.

It had meant to be a routine patrol around Midgar, a simple—though tedious—mission to show some of the more promising cadets a taste of their future in the field. But the weather dampened the cadets' spirits despite their previous enthusiasm at being 'chosen'—as the other cadets, envious of those allowed on the assignment, had dubbed it—by the general. Even Lieutenant Zack seemed oddly sullen compared to his normally sunny disposition, especially as the troupe trudged through the dampened streets of Midgar, the air rank with a mixture of sewer waste and impure MAKO.

A sharp rumbling of earth and the billows of scarlet fire and black smoke bursting into the dusky sky—followed by a jarring screech as metal collapsed—had the troupe immediately on the alert. With the smoke signaling the position of the site of the explosion, the cadets and the attending SOLDIERs soon found themselves standing in front of one of the ShinRa MAKO reactors. As workers fled the scene, the company noticed broken flesh and fragmented bone littering the grounds further away from the actual reactor, the mutilated body parts a glimpse of the horrors those who had been unlucky enough not to die directly from the explosion had suffered. There had even been bleeding, burnt bodies slumped underneath or above the piles of rubble and metal, accompanied by the less grotesque corpses of those who had been unfortunate enough to suffocate from the smoke.

The cadets could tell that the event had been unexpected, though during the briefings, they had been informed of the possibility of such a catastrophe occurring. While the lieutenant and the general assessed the situation, the Third Class SOLDIERs appointed to the mission turned to the cadets and informed them that ShinRa policies did not require the services, voluntary or not, of any persons below the class of SOLDIER. However, a blond cadet—whose records, Strife recalled, displayed the name Elena—had boastfully argued that the cadets surely must have prepared themselves for potential death when they signed up for the training program.

"Since we already knew about the possibility of dying during the SOLDIER examination, I don't see why this can't be considered part of our training!" finished Elena haltingly, and the other cadets, while anxious of their own safety and terrified of the situation, boldly agreed with the girl to seem less weak in the eyes of their superiors.

"Sir—" retorted one of the Third Class SOLDIERs, concerned that the inexperience of the cadets might encumber the troupe during the remainder of the mission rather than aid it.

"We might need the manpower, so we'll let them choose. For now, let's just hurry and see if we can help out any survivors we find," reasoned Zack before glancing towards his right to observe Strife's response to his decision. Zack swallowed thickly as he saw the flames tinting the edges of Strife's irises scarlet, but focused his attention back onto the cadets when he noticed the general's nod of approval.

Strife divided the troupe into three smaller groups, the first two groups composed of five Third Class SOLDIERs and two cadets, and the last group composed of the general, the lieutenant, Reno, and Elena. He instructed the units to search for and rescue any survivors found, and to report back to the ShinRa compound as soon as the unit has completed the appointed segment—to their best knowledge and own discretion.

"Let's go," ordered Strife after the completion of the arrangements, his voice barely carrying over the roar of the fire and the groaning of concrete and metal.

The general soon discovered that the portion of the mission he had assigned to himself had been most severely ravaged by the initial explosion and the subsequent chaos of heat-induced collapse. Needless to say, the unit could find little to nothing that either had not already been charred beyond recognition or consumed by the fire, or had not been crushed beneath the piles of rubble. All that rewarded the unit after desperate minutes of digging through concrete and metal—when possible—was dust and smoke, clinging uncomfortably to their sweat-slickened skin and uniforms.

After a little over half an hour of fruitless work, the members of the unit were surprised by a rather undamaged clearing, and subsequently discerned that the area housed the side generator—the support power supply to the main reactor should maintenance be needed. The group cautiously spread themselves apart to look through the debris that did fall from the shockwave of the explosion.

Elena thought she heard something striking against metal and a quiet groan, and headed towards the direction the sounds emanated from. She gave a yelp as she dashed towards the pile of wreckage where a worker laid half buried. Another clang, followed by the now audible footsteps, alerted Elena to the presence of an unknown and _uninjured_ person, the sounds of the boots striking the ground suggesting a heavy-set man. She lifted her head, and across the stretch of hallway leading to the controls of the back-up generator stood a tall, brawny man, with a rather daunting machine gun attached to his left arm—or rather, the stump of his amputated left arm. The young man—perhaps only in his early or mid-twenties—noticed only the blue, ShinRa-issued uniform donned by Elena before he angrily and irrationally raised his gun arm, pointing the barrel in the direction of Elena.

"ShinRa scum!" bellowed the man, and Elena felt her body completely freeze in fear, unable to even scream for help to save her own _life_.

"Cadet! Get down!" shouted someone in the distance just as a body slammed into her own, knocking her out of harm's way just as the sound of bullets firing echoed along with the roaring of the fire. A sharp inhalation and a grunt of pain forced her to focus from the darkened skies to the curtain of scarlet hair tickling her lips and right ear. She breathed in deeply, not even realizing that she had begun to cry, and sat up to discover that Reno had been shot thrice in his legs, leaving a pool of blood staining the ground where she knelt immobile moments ago. The survivor was dead. Everything looked red.

Strife raced across the bridge to where he could see the dark-skinned man—the newest member of AVALANCE, named Barret Wallace—hastily and tremblingly load his gun with more powerful ammunition. If Strife had met this father of one in a different situation, he would have wondered if the pounding of his heart was due to the concern over the safety of his troops or from the pang of almost recognition his mind struggled to match in his memories. But with the adrenaline rushing through his blood stream and 'Mother's' voice eagerly goading him on, he wanted nothing but blood from that man to be spilt onto the ground for a thousand conflicting reasons.

Wallace cocked his gun and aimed, ready to shoot. Reno painstakingly crawled onto his hands and knees, barely hovering over the traumatized Elena, and spared a half panicked, half calm gaze—the expression of one who has accepted their unwelcome but imminent death—at the man about to kill him.

Strife's nostrils flared as he smelled the scent of fresh blood, and his vision was temporarily blinded by scarlet as 'Mother' reacted favorably to his actions—or perhaps by the blood, the droplets glimmering from the fire, which poured out of the choking man. His blade had cut so neatly through cloth and sunk so easily into flesh and bone. Strife watched as the dying man collapsed onto his knees and coughed out the same liquid that blemished Strife's right cheek.

"Mar-Marlene…Can't…Not here…" gasped the man, struggling to breathe even as black and grey spots crept into his vision. The blade slid out of Wallace's body as he crumbled onto his own pool of blood, a small ring of dust rising into the air from the impact, and the man drew his last breath.

"You guys alright?!" Strife turned around as he watched Zack run across the same bridge he had crossed moments ago. He wanted to reply, but his voice had completely stopped working.

A loud, deafening blast erupted all around them. Cloud instinctively turned towards the sound—signaling the detonation of a bomb—which had originated from below them. Zack barely had time to register the explosion before he was knocked off his feet, the bridge breaking into several chunks of metal and bursting from its hinges. Cloud's eyes were wide and his expression petrified as he watched Zack fly through the air, quickly gaining speed as the lieutenant started falling towards the smog blanketing over the slums of Midgar.

Cloud reached the edge of the platform just as Zack disappeared from view.

"Zack!!" screamed Cloud, foolishly hoping for a response.

In that moment, Cloud could only feel hatred. He could only feel hatred for himself.

* * *

When Zack regained consciousness, he almost whished whatever train had plowed him over would hit him again so he would stop feeling his pounding headache. However, the sight that met him when he grudgingly opened his eyes definitely forced his disoriented mind to wake itself up to some form of coherency.

"…Angel…" mumbled Zack, but the girl—her youthful face haloed ethereally by soft brown hair, glistening like gold from the sunlight—merely giggled at his comment.

"No, my name is Aerith! Aerith Gainsborough. You're lucky, mister! It seems like the roof and my flowers broke your fall and saved you," informed the girl as she helped Zack move into a sitting position.

Zack groaned pitifully and rubbed at the back of his head, where he could feel a prominent bump throbbing heatedly. A scent in the air, like light perfume, soothed his agony somewhat—at least, enough so that his wits were restored—and Zack realized that they sat in a field of glorious white flowers, the name of which had long since lost itself in the minds of Midgar residents.

"Flowers are a rarity in this city," nodded Aerith as she watched Zack gently appreciate the flowers with the hand that had just been buried in black spikes of hair. "I grow these because one day, I hope to spread their beauty and joy all throughout this city." Aerith stood up in her excitement and twirled around in the flower field to face the sunshine filtering through the cracks of the roof into the dusty church. The hem of her skirt fluttered like petals through the air, and the skirt of her pink dress flowed like water with her movements.

"You must be such a special person," grinned Zack, and Aerith blinked at Zack slightly confused—and embarrassed. "Uh…I mean, it must be really hard to grow anything in Midgar. Speaking of which…Where am I anyways?"

"This is the local church in Sector 5," replied Aerith as Zack glanced around the church to take in the chipped stone columns and the dilapidated wooden benches scattered throughout the room. The light seemed too bright for it to be late in the afternoon.

"What time is it?" (3)

"Well, it's nine eleven in the morning…You've been unconscious for an awfully long time!" Zack grimaced, an image of Strife's frozen expression coming to mind as he remembered the circumstances through which he arrived in this situation.

"It's been a pleasure meeting you, Miss Aerith," smiled Zack apologetically as he clambered onto his feet, careful to avoid crushing any of the flowers. "Now, I would repay you for your kindness by promising you a date…but I already gave that promise away to someone else. So how about I promise that I'll visit in the future?"

"Uh…" stuttered Aerith, completely not expecting a stranger—one who fell from the sky, no less—to ask her on a date from out of nowhere!

"Great!" exclaimed Zack exuberantly before departing with a quick wave of his hand.

"What a strange person," voiced Aerith to herself, smiling pleasantly at the memory of Zack's behavior.

The flowers seemed to smile with her.

* * *

Notes:

(1) I credit Knowing Shadows for the idea of making Reno a cadet (in the story "Fusion"). I must also credit aphelion-orion for inspiring me to write Reno and Cloud as having a sort of "normal" relationship (in the story "The Day Reno Gave Up"). The inspiration for the scene came from imagining Nanaki's grandchildren trying to 'defeat' Cloud, like how some children (particularly cubs) are wont to do during playing.

(2) I realize that having the first space rocket stay up in space for several days is probably historically inaccurate and highly improbable, but I want to point out that the day progression in the game is a bit off-kilter, especially since you can make the meteor take much longer than a week to reach the planet.

(3) Zack had been unconscious for an entire night. This fact has absolutely no relevance to the story.

* * *

A/N: Reviews and comments welcome. I am not quite certain when the next chapter will be up, and I shall apologize in advance if it ends up taking far longer than it should.


	5. Chapter 4 : Fleeting

A/N: This is what I like to call the "Filler Chapter". I hope you will still enjoy this.

* * *

**Requiem**

Chapter 4: Fleeting

* * *

Sephiroth knew something was wrong when he had felt the slight tremor in the floor, and his intuitions proved correct when billows of smoke started to rise in the horizon just as Zack called him to inform him of the situation. He could not help the tendrils of worry that crept into the pit of his stomach even as he alerted the medical staff to prepare for possible injuries. Yet, after all the busywork, he could only stare helplessly as the sky darkened, his mind unable to concentrate on other matters, regardless of their importance and urgency.

He realized how uncharacteristic he was being: this incident was not the first terrorist act done by AVALANCE, after all, and the active SOLDIERs and cadets had been drilled on emergency response, especially those with the highest probability of encountering said situations. On top of those reasons, Sephiroth had improved the system himself—granted, after much complaining on Zack's part about how he hated the random drills and the "_boring lectures on safety that I have only heard five million times already!_"

_Still_…Sephiroth unconsciously drummed his fingers against his desk as time ticked slowly by, the worry he tried to repress gnawing at his mind without end.

It was by chance that he turned around at that particular moment. It was by chance that he saw the soot- and blood-covered form of the other general, the latter's shoulders slouched in exhaustion and what appeared to be defeat. It was by chance that he met the dulled, disoriented eyes of Cloud before the other walked quietly past his office. Sephiroth felt the urge to reach out and…_and what? Interrogate him? Comfort him?_

The worry never once abated for the remainder of the evening.

I must have fallen asleep…

thought Cloud groggily as he awoke in the late hours of the morning, the curtains effectively blocking out any sunlight attempting to penetrate the otherwise darkened room. _What…?_ He furrowed his eyebrows and recalled the cause of the aching, bone-deep exhaustion that he felt so sharply in every limb. If not for the stench of decayed blood, dried sweat, and burnt matter on his body, he would have wondered if the events of the past day had really occurred or if he had merely dreamt it.

Dread crept into the pit of Cloud's stomach. _Zack…_ He wanted to forget. He could feel 'Mother' softly cooing at the back of his mind and he concentrated on that soothing presence, allowing his mind to blank out even though he knew this mode of escape could only last temporarily. He could almost imagine 'Mother's' arms around his body, comforting him, and he realized hazily that he had desperately missed this intimate form of physical contact with other human beings, as if he had not felt this sensation for a long time.

There was a commotion outside of his door. Cloud wanted to ignore the voices.

"…Please? I just want to see how he's doing!"

The corners of Cloud's lips unconsciously turned downwards.

"…You just got back…He seemed fine earlier…"

"…But he looked so…Know you don't give out keys for a reason but…It'll only take a minute…!"

"You're causing a ruckus. Zachary, are you listening?"

_Zachary?_ The voices sounded so familiar, and he remembered that there was something important associated with that name, but he drifted off to sleep before he could mentally process the conversation he had just heard.

* * *

Cloud felt…_awkward_, for a lack of a better term. While he had been, for the most part, relieved that Zack was breathing and completely unaffected by the incident, he could not help but continually relive the breathless terror of watching Zack disappear from view, plummeting through the air towards the unyielding earth below. The visions were often accompanied by the pungent smell of blood and the metallic taste of something disgustingly _earthy_.

Zack had noticed that nearly horrified expression that lingered in those distant MAKO-tinted eyes every time Cloud suddenly lapsed into silence, and had taken to asking the other's wellbeing. Cloud always answered in the affirmative—though Zack looked doubtful at his response—but he had been too engrossed in the image of those same pair of concerned violet eyes glazed over in a mask of death.

Cloud's heart throbbed painfully. He knew he was remembering something important, but at the same time, he wished the images would disappear.

* * *

"There is a mission request direct from the President's office."

Those had been the quiet words that greeted Zack as he entered the office on a raining Monday morning. He was already slightly upset that he had been woken up earlier than usual due to the thunder, and to see Sephiroth staring so seriously at him completely put a damper on all remaining spirit he had. _I really hate this sometimes…_

"That's unusual," commented Zack as he yawned loudly, reaching out with one hand to accept the mahogany-red envelope, a "Classified Information" stamp strewn diagonally across both the top and bottom sides.

"The information did not just come from the Turks alone. The background on the target seemed to have been written by Hojo," murmured Sephiroth.

"Hojo?" frowned Zack as he fished out the documents with his free hand, then preceded to skim through the reports for noticeable details. "Genesis Rhapsodos?"

"He disappeared during the Wutaian War. Another First Class SOLDIER had been ordered to find him, but the War made it difficult to expend energy on matters like these and subsequently all leads vanished. You should know the SOLDIER. His name is Angeal Hewley."

"Angeal?" reiterated Zack, blinking in surprise. _Angeal…_ An expression of sadness pervaded his eyes at the knowledge that the man had been killed a few months prior while on a mission investigating unusual MAKO levels at the Northern Crater. Zack had always regretted not putting up more effort to convince his mentor to decline the mission in order to nurse that progressively _worsening_ illness.

"Genesis and Angeal had been friends."

_You may know the target better than anyone else_ _may_. Those had been the unspoken words, and Zack silently acknowledge them as he examined the old, nearly washed out photograph of Genesis, staring at the auburn hair and the calm expression and wondering what kind of man Angeal's friend had been.

_What did this man do that Hojo wants him killed?_

* * *

A long, loose strand of hair obscured her vision and she nervously flicked it away from her face as she handed her identification to the security officer stationed at one of the gates connected to the impressive metal walls surrounding Midgar. Tifa Lockhart could only wonder at the filthy but nevertheless impressive city, which appeared like a floating city due to the smog and pollution of the slums.

The guard, dressed in the navy-blue ShinRa-issued uniform, nodded at her as indication that her documents have been approved by the system and herded her past the checkpoint after handing back the papers.

_What if he didn't get my letter?_ It had been two stressful months since she had mailed it, but she never received a response from him. _What happens if he doesn't even remember me?_

She pushed her anxiety away—though those gut-wrenching butterflies refused to disappear—and paid an old, nearly toothless woman a few spare Gil for directions to the ShinRa compound. Taking a calming breath, Tifa Lockhart set out to achieve the goals of her journey.

* * *

"N-No, I didn't know I needed an appointment."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to leave, miss."

"But I _know_ him. If you just let me see him, I'm sure he'll let me stay!"

Zack blinked as he overheard the heated argument at the reception desk of the ShinRa offices, all thoughts of his intended walk gone as he inched closer to the source of the commotion out of curiosity.

"Yes. I'm sure you _know_ him too, just like every other admirer who happens to _know_ General Sephiroth. Now please leave the premises before I call security."

Zack caught a glimpse of the exasperated receptionist before turning his attention towards the individual causing said annoyance, and he was pleasantly surprised with the slender figure of a girl—he guessed no older than 15—whose long brown hair cascaded over her back before ending in a small ponytail. He mentally processed through the list of SOLDIERs who would garner such a response from the ShinRa employee, but could not think of anyone forgetful enough to inform the staff of potential visits from lovers, family members, or friends. While the red tape certainly proved troublesome, Zack knew that many of the veterans, dubbed the "Heroes of the Wutaian War", certainly did not appreciate the unrestrained admiration and enthusiasm a portion of the population showed to them. _If not Sephiroth, then who?_

"What's the problem here, ladies?" grinned Zack as he ambled leisurely towards the pair. The receptionist immediately jumped up to her feet and began apologizing about the trouble, dreading the report on her inefficiencies that she was sure the First Class SOLDIER would give to her boss. Zack waved off her rambling—to which she blushed deeply at for embarrassing herself in front of her superior more than she already had—and gazed at the visitor, who had her eyebrows furrowed and her lips turned downwards in a frown. She suddenly brightened and smiled excitedly at him.

"You! I saw you on the television with him!" exclaimed the girl in relief. "Can you help me find Cloud?"

"Cloud?" parroted Zack in surprise. He chuckled slyly at the thought that Cloud had a secret sweetheart. "I can, but I need your name first—"

"But sir!" cried the receptionist in dismay, not wanting to get into trouble for letting anyone break the rules—especially since the ShinRa employees loved to spread gossip in order to eliminate any competition for jobs and promotions.

"Don't worry about it," grinned Zack as he reassured the increasingly flustered receptionist that he would take all responsibility for any trouble she might encounter while forcing himself to remember the name 'Shelby Hannegan'.

"My name is Tifa. Tifa Lockhart," replied Tifa after Zack once again prompted for her name. She almost hugged the man as he led them past the bustling offices where she had spent the majority of her afternoon getting hustled around from office to office before finally being directed to the visitor desk.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, whatcha trying to find General Strife for?"

"I'm a friend," replied Tifa after a moment of reflecting on the formality this man used to address Cloud.

Zack raised an eyebrow at her response. "Just a friend, eh?"

Tifa blushed at Zack's implications. "Of course I'm just a friend!" blurted Tifa before she could stop herself. Her exclamations only served to heighten Zack's amusement.

Before long, Zack and Tifa reached their destination. Zack did not even bother to knock before pushing the door open and wandering inside the spacious office. Tifa shyly walked through the doorway and gulped thickly before raising her eyes to Cloud's confused ones.

"Tifa?"

* * *

Zack remembered the frown adorning Sephiroth's pale lips when the Turks had fortuitously discovered information as to the whereabouts of Genesis Rhapsodos, and he himself certainly had doubts about the validity of the reports. But with no evidence to refute the threadbare rumors, Sephiroth had turned to Zack and had grudgingly allowed the lieutenant to investigate the matter with the Turks, provided that the teenager took all precautions should the lead turn out to be a trap. Zack grinned to himself as he recalled the disgruntled look Sephiroth had, thinking that the Turks were completely wasting the resources of the SOLDIER department, and could not help but agree with the general.

Supposed organizational members serving under Genesis Rhapsodos had leaked out the name of a mansion situated on the outskirts of Kalm, the edifice itself having been abandoned for several years due to the sudden recession of the otherwise quaint town. If the strategy of situating the headquarters near Midgar had not been ridiculous enough, recent photographs of the mansion showed that it was utterly inhabitable after years of deterioration due to the natural elements. Still, the Turks had been rather frustrated with their progression on the case, and therefore had jumped hungrily at the information, much to the dismayed amusement of Zack.

Zack kicked away a piece of rubble from his path, grimacing as the rotted wood chose to glue itself onto his boots instead of splintering or flying several feet away from him. Dead, soggy plant matter littered the previously graveled roadway leading up to the main doors of the mansion, and Zack wrinkled his nose slightly as he picked his way through the refuse that had accumulated through the years.

Zack pushed open the decrepit wooden doors, grateful that the hinges still functioned properly, and surveyed the darkened room before gesturing the Turks to follow him, his quick perusal deeming the place safe enough. Even the Turks could see for themselves that the mansion had remained untouched for several years, with no visible marks or minor details to signal otherwise. Still, as they continued to search farther into the ruins of the building, Zack started to feel unease and anxiety encroach upon his nerves, and he unconsciously glanced around him for the source of his apprehension.

A glint of gold caught his attention. He yelped as he felt air rushing up beneath him and he could feel his stomach wrench as he fell. His irises dilated as he attempted to catch sight of something—anything!—to grab onto in order to slow his descent, but he could see and feel virtually nothing. His back crashed into wood and he hissed in pain, trying to reach out with one hand and grasp the edge of the splintered flooring _before I_…!

Zack grimaced as wood cut into his arm and hand before giving way. He hissed in pain as he landed on the hard—_concrete?_—floor, his legs absorbing the majority of the impact, lessened by his temporary hold on the wooden flooring the level above. The air smelled surprisingly clean, and Zack immediately reached behind him to unclasp his buster sword, the heavy weight of the blade and the worn texture of the hilt's leather allowing him to calm down amidst the chaos.

"You have no idea…"

Zack swallowed thickly and tried to stifle his ragged breathing, hoping that the soft words he had heard were only a figment of his imagination.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment."

Zack clutched the hilt of his weapon more firmly, his MAKO-enhanced eyes narrowing as he searched fruitlessly for a glimpse of his enemy.

"I bid you welcome, First Class SOLDIER Zachary Fair."

_Shit_.

* * *

Zack had suggested he show Tifa around Midgar, and that innocent suggestion had turned into a tour of the city—not that either of them knew the surrounding areas well enough not to get lost. Cloud did enjoy Tifa's company immensely, much to his confusion: his recognition of Tifa seemed to be from a set of memories that felt as if they had been implanted into his brain rather than experienced, but all the same, he felt warm and comfortable around her.

"Cloud, look! That looks like a church from back home." Tifa pointed to a debilitated church—how they ended up in the slums of Sector 5 remained a mystery to him—before grabbing his hand and pulling him eagerly towards the open doorway across the street.

"Wow…This place is _amazing_!" exclaimed Tifa as she wandered past the benches towards a gaping hole near where the altar used to stand tall, leaning down to admire the beautiful flowers that thrived within the confines of the building. Tifa glanced up at the fractured stone ceiling and the molded wooden beams, smiling as she watched the unadulterated sunlight rain down upon the church to give its features a touch of rare beauty.

Cloud allowed a small smile to grace his lips. 'Mother' frowned and complained about the disagreeable stench of the flowers, and in that moment of distraction, Tifa had stopped smiling and instead looked worriedly at him.

"I'm sorry…Dragging you all over the place. You must be so tired!"

Cloud blinked and opened his mouth to reject her assumption—

"It's nice and quiet here. Why don't you take a nap?" suggested Tifa as she briefly explored the building to check for other presence. "I don't mind watching over you as you sleep. Besides, you looked so cute the last time I saw you doze off."

Cloud could not find the will to refuse her.

* * *

Footsteps approached him, echoing hollowly in the grandeur of the room, and Zack rotated his body around slowly, cautious of attackers from within the blinding darkness.

"You have no idea…" (1)

Zack strained his ears to catch a sound after the footsteps stalled, but he could only hear his own stifled breathing, amplified ten-fold in the sudden silence. He licked his lips nervously, hating the feeling of being able to do nothing but wait for his observer to make the next move.

"…How eager I have been to meet another specimen."

"Specimen?" Zack cursed his voice for cracking.

There was a short laugh. "Hojo must have locked away his laboratory research after his unexpected failure with me, but I am slightly disappointed that you made so little effort to investigate your target." The man paused, as if contemplating his course of action. "You may lower your weapon, lieutenant. After all, I have no intention of killing you." With those words, Zack winced and covered his eyes as the lights of the room turned on at once.

In front of him stood the figure of the man he had seen in the faded photographs, but Zack immediately knew the man was sickly—perhaps even dying—when he saw those lackluster eyes and that graying hair. He lowered his weapon. There was absolutely no malice in those eyes.

"Project Genesis. Precursor experiment to what I believed is termed Project JENOVA." Genesis took a seat by the window, watching the waves beyond the panes of glass roll gently by before crashing into the sharp rocks of the cliffs in a spray of white foam. "Hojo had never needed to assassinate any of his project failures. Most of them die of insanity or illness." The man looked at Zack for a moment or two before turning his attention back to the waters below, and Zack noticed the defeat and exhaustion that lined the man's posture and expression. "It appears that I will follow Angeal to my grave."

"Angeal?" repeated Zack, his voice soft.

"I regret that I cannot meet you under different circumstances. However, you are in stage four of Project JENOVA. At stage five, a wasting disease sets in unless the project progresses to stage six. Hojo miscalculated the effects of the illness, and for that, I suppose I am grateful." Genesis paused, as if uncertain of something. "I have a favor to ask of you."

Genesis looked expectantly at Zack, and Zack agreed after a moment of hesitation.

"Give me the honor of being killed with Angeal's sword."

* * *

With his head resting comfortably on Tifa's lap, Cloud felt his eyelids become progressively heavier as sleep crept over his consciousness, and he slowly succumbed to the promising darkness. Tifa threaded her fingers gently through his hair, smiling as she watched the peaceful and innocent expression slip over Cloud's features.

* * *

"Why?" croaked Zack, his mind a maelstrom of conflicting thoughts and emotions as he registered the man's strange request.

"It's your duty."

"I don't understand. You knew how to escape ShinRa. You did it for more than two months. Why now? Why did you let yourself be found?"

"I am living proof that you can escape successfully. But my fate lies with the failure of Project Genesis at stage five."

* * *

Cloud wondered if he should allow himself to indulge in the feeling of being…_happy_. The terror of watching Zack disappear through the smog with the smell of ash and soot burning his nostrils threatened to disrupt the temporary peace he found himself in, and his heart thumped heavily in his chest as he furrowed his eyebrows. Tender fingers smoothed away the minute creases in his forehead, and he gazed dazedly up at the blurry image of Tifa's soothing smile and affectionate eyes.

_Will I lose Tifa?_

He closed his eyes as sleep embraced him.

_But Zack…Zack came back…_

* * *

Zack wrenched the blade out of a mesh of ripped flesh and broken bones. Blood splattered onto the pristine concrete floor before the man collapsed back onto the window seat, staining the glass against his back a brilliant red.

"You still have time to escape." Genesis coughed and droplets of blood dribbled past the corners of his lips. "Overconfidence…that's his weakness."

The buster sword felt exceedingly heavy in his hands.

"Use it…to your advantage…"

* * *

"So what do you think, Professor?"

Hojo peered at the fat walrus of a man that he was ashamed to call his employer.

"The citizens seem to show tremendous approval of our new general. I think we can proceed to the next stage, hm?" wheedled President ShinRa.

Hojo wanted to rip the man to pieces and watch him beg for mercy.

"Hn. Well," drawled Hojo, reaching up to adjust his glasses briefly, "The preparations are complete. I suppose we can start testing the next stage of the Project on General Strife."

"Excellent! Finally, all that precious money that I invested on this Project…" drooled President ShinRa as he rubbed his hands together greedily.

Hojo turned his back to the mumbling man, intent on returning to his pristine laboratory. _Foolish man…No matter, after the completion of this Project, I no longer have to rely on him. Ah…my precious experiments, finally reaching fruition! Then all eyes will be on you, Sephiroth…_

Hojo laughed quietly to himself in the empty hallway.

* * *

Notes:

(1) I never played the game Final Fantasy VII: Crisis Core, therefore I doubt I am actually portraying the characters properly. However, I am excusing myself on the basis that this is A/U, so I apologize for my odd usage of Genesis Rhapsodos.

* * *

A/N: Reviews and comments greatly appreciated.


	6. Chapter 5 : Bittersweet

A/N: This is…rather delayed, isn't it? This chapter is dedicated to all the people who continue to read this story.

A/N: If I was JENOVA, I would be rubbing my hands together and cackling to myself. Wait. I already am rubbing my hands together and cackling to myself.

Warning: Much A/U and OOC, not to mention confusion and more confusion.

* * *

**Requiem**

Chapter 5: Bittersweet

* * *

"Any evidence to prove his claims?"

"He didn't have to."

Sephiroth frowned thoughtfully at the conviction brimming in Zack's calm eyes and would have trusted his lieutenant's judgement without question if not for that concern screaming at the back of his mind from the thought that _Hojo_ had been the one to request the mission. The implications were not pleasant. Sephiroth could hardly believe that Hojo would be careless enough as to assign Zack a mission where such vital information could so easily leak out. _But if Hojo knew of the possibility yet risked exposure, then surely he would have accounted for the inconvenience and planned accordingly?_

"What would you have me do?"

"Find us a mission," whispered Zack, his voice betraying his anxiety. "Make us disappear."

"The last mission that required the services of a general—outside of publicity for ShinRa—had been when the reactor in Corel showed abnormal activity, and that had occurred well over seven months ago. How do you propose I make two generals and a lieutenant disappear on a whim?" Sephiroth could feel the start of a headache forming in his right temple, and briefly wondered why 'she' had been so restless lately. "And—" interrupted Sephiroth when he saw Zack open his mouth to protest, "should we manage to escape, we shall be hunted down like dogs." Sephiroth knew the sensation, forced to experience the numb fear as he grasped Masamune tighter in his blood-slicked hand, pressing his other hand deeper against the wound in his abdomen and wondering if the people who wanted him _dead_ were still chasing him across that desolate stretch of Wutai.

"Even we have our limits."

Zack felt a surge of anger and hatred pool hotly at the bottom of his stomach at the knowledge that even the great General Sephiroth—the man everyone adored for his invincibility—would so openly admit weakness. But…he knew, deep down—though he did not want to admit it—what Sephiroth truly wanted to say…. Even if they could persist past the vigilant pursue and the persisting battles, _his_ own strength will inevitably and ultimately fail, and Sephiroth…Sephiroth will fall with him.

"I know," replied Zack bitterly as he directed his heated glare away from those emerald eyes and onto the stacks of papers piled neatly on top of the immaculate metal desk.

Sometimes, he truly wondered what they were living for.

* * *

Cloud groggily opened his eyes, momentarily blinking away the haze clouding his eyesight from having slept _well_ for once. The heat encircling his bare feet and hands felt utterly blissful in the coldness of his room, and the slight headache he received for having slumbered much more than he normally did felt oddly _pleasant_. He slowly sat up, absentmindedly listening to the blankets shift around his torso, and turned to gaze at the autumn, gray skies overhanging Midgar.

He _hated_ the cold, because he never had any fond memories of the cold, but he grudgingly acknowledged its necessity.

Cloud wondered when he would meet Tifa again after her departure back to Nibelheim, and could not deny that he would have liked her to stay longer, because, despite his memory lapse, he knew that she was important to him. Frowning slightly, he turned his head away from the window and towards the clock located on the table drawer to his right side, momentarily entranced by the eerie green glow forming the digits.

10:46.

The corners of his lips twisted into a slight grimace at the thought that Hojo had schedule an appointment—delightfully referred to as a 'regular checkup' by the professor—for him that afternoon. Dread clawed and fluttered in his abdomen at the thought of the torture his body would have to endure. He reluctantly clambered off the bed—immediately craving the warmth as cold air rushed past his clothing and formed goose bumps over his skin—and headed across the carpeted floor towards the bureau where he stored his clothing—

His pupils dilated as the world tilted slightly with each step he took until he felt vertigo-induced nausea overwhelm his senses and force him to pause in the middle of the room, waiting for the room to right itself again. He swallowed thickly, desperately fighting the gag reflex as bile threatened to spill out of his throat, and felt his right temple throb painfully from a scar he could not remember ever receiving.

\…soon…\ 'Mother' hummed eagerly in his mind.

Cloud closed his eyes tightly. Memories he forgot rushed out of control through his mind and he reached out to grasp them—

—A beautiful woman with dark brown hair smiled at him, her—

—emerald eyes twinkling in mock anger as she—

—told him that he was dying, and /_Cloud, live for me…Live for me and fulfill my dreams…_/— (1)

—He choked slightly as air—horribly _cold_ air—rushed into his lungs, and his cerulean eyes, wild and unfocused, shot open as the queasiness passed as sudden as it came. He furrowed his eyebrows as a myriad of emotions he could not and did not want to name coursed through his entire frame, and longed for that peace he had sought for so long standing at that…!

He blinked in confusion as he realized his hand clutched his clothing tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, and stared for a moment contemplating what he had been doing for the past few minutes to cause such a violent reaction. _Nothing_. He recalled _nothing_. He could not even remember when he had arrived at the bureau, nor recollect selecting the clothes in his hands. He felt a surge of anger course through him.

He hated nothing more than he hated the cold.

* * *

Zack caught a glimpse of blond hair as he was about to turn the corner, and backtracked—nearly falling over from craning his neck, much to the amusement of passerby's—before letting a grin break out on his face. Jogging slightly, he carefully 'crept up' on his unsuspecting victim and then swung his arm around those slender shoulders, laughing softly as he felt a slight jolt from the startled boy.

"Hey Spike!" greeted Zack as he caught the nonplussed glare from his favorite chocobo-head, and grinned wider at the mental image of seeing Cloud _pout_—though he suspected he might die a horrible, _horrible_ death before he would ever see the boy pout. "So…" Zack wagged his left eyebrow suggestively before leaning towards that mess of golden hair and whispering, "how was the date with Miss Tifa?"

"It was…" hesitated Cloud, and Zack almost snickered at seeing a small flush adorn those normally pale cheeks. "…nice."

"_Only_ nice?" prompted Zack, squeezing Cloud's shoulders slightly, and Cloud twisted his head around to glare at the lieutenant because that movement aggravated his bandaged arm and caused a sharp, throbbing pain to pulse through the previously numb appendage. Cloud clenched and unclenched his fist several times, gradually easing the pain, and let out a small puff of breath as the numbness returned.

"You don't need to get so defensive, Spike," chuckled Zack softly as he held up his hands to pacify the boy, mistakenly assuming the furrowing of those smooth eyebrows and the curling of those thin digits as signs of exasperation. "Don't worry though…" The corners of Cloud's lips twitched slightly downwards when Zack wagged his eyebrows again and grinned gleefully, but, despite everything, he…he _liked_ Zack's joking and friendly manner. "I'll make sure you confess your undying love for me when I take you out on that date you owe me!"

"I'm sure," replied Cloud in a dismissive manner.

Zack faked a hurt expression and placed his hand on his chest dramatically, whining a "That hurts, Spike!" that Cloud could not help but smile at—before he flushed slightly in embarrassment when Zack leaned in close to peer at his face. "You should smile more. You look nice when you do it. Well, maybe you shouldn't smile all the time…" Zack gazed around suspiciously before leaning conspiratorially towards Cloud once again, causing the latter to involuntarily shiver as he felt the other's breath so close to his skin. "The girls might go crazy—"

/_…older girlfriend to take care of you…_/

Cloud frowned at that stray thought and could have sworn that he had a conversation like _this_ once, but…

"…And Seph pinned you against the wall and screwed your brains out, right?"

"…What?" blurted Cloud in horror when he registered the words Zack spewed out.

"You and Seph are both such _terrific_ listeners," laughed Zack as he flicked Cloud's forehead, much to the annoyance of the other. "But I guess…" Zack trailed off as he stared steadily into those bright MAKO-infused pupils, noticing that gorgeous azure had gradually been replaced by a repulsively hazy emerald.

…_I like you guys the way you are._ He grinned at Cloud instead. After all, he did not mind filling in the silences left by those two anyway.

* * *

Sephiroth stared blankly down at the piece of paper lying innocently on his desk, his mind racing ahead of itself as his eyes once more skimmed over the information stated on the report to make sure he had not misread the words.

'Location: Nibelheim Reactor.'

'Threat Level: Undetermined.'

Missions marked with the word 'Undetermined' were rare on the basis that the Turks—the Intelligence Department of the ShinRa Company—would rather sacrifice _lives_ than not collect the desired information. The corrupt ways of the Turks—the bribing, the blackmailing, the _killing_—were widely known by the populace inhabiting the lands surrounding Midgar, causing people to fear the so-called "gangsters" even as they contradictorily extolled the ShinRa Company. (2)

/_…Nibelheim is too small of a town to keep digital files…_/

Sephiroth had no doubt that the ShinRa Company had minimal interest in small towns where the profits from the reactor were negligible…the only logical explanation for such a high-class mission for a decrepit reactor in a no-name town would be that Hojo orchestrated it. 'Mother' laughingly cooed that no _mortal_ man could stop 'her' precious son should the mission turn out foul, and not to mention, if Hojo wanted to finish his silly little experiments, then surely he would need his favorite specimen to stay in Midgar, where he had his equipment? 'She' maliciously pointed out the fact that all _mortals_ are _prone_ to laziness now and then, including those despicable Turks, because \…remember, the Turks…they had you go out to your death more than once during the war…\

Sephiroth frowned at those particularly unsavory memories from his childhood. (3)

"Seph?"

Shaking his head briefly to clear his mind, Sephiroth lifted his eyes to observe the vibrant violet eyes on that concerned face, and silently picked up the piece of paper he had been blankly staring at before handing it to his lieutenant. That look of worry disappeared from Zack's face and was instead replaced by a look of confusion, and Sephiroth felt something twist in his abdomen even as that same something lift off of his shoulders.

"Mission to Nibelheim Reactor." Sephiroth heard his own voice spill out from between his lips as if from miles away, and forcefully pushed past the _distractions _in his mind to focus on that small downward curve in Zack's lips. He wanted Zack to smile, to openly laugh, to have that spark of innocent joy emanating from his entire being, like when he first met the dark-haired boy before _everything_…

"…Think it's a trap?"

"Yes."

Sephiroth voicelessly watched the multitude of emotions flicker past those expressive eyes, causing that smooth forehead to wrinkle in contemplation and those tense muscles to stand out on that strong neck. He felt awed at the display of emotions that Zack—or any person really—showed, because he never felt any unconscious urges to change his facial expression even at a young age, even before he discovered he _was not like other children_.

"So…that's it, huh?" Zack felt the sudden, irrational urge to laugh.

"…'She'…" Sephiroth hesitated bringing 'her' into any conversation he held with Zack because the latter seemed to hold a vendetta against that constant presence in his mind; he learned to avoid speaking of 'her'—of 'JENOVA', the scientists told him—because he hated seeing that morose and angry expression line that normally smiling face. "…'She'…" Sephiroth paused momentarily when he noticed that small spark of anger and hatred flicker through Zack's vibrant violet eyes before a look of desperate contemplation settled over them once again. "…'She' does not believe it is a trap…because Hojo needs us here. Transporting Strife here from Nibelheim…is indication enough that he cannot complete his experiments there."

"I guess…" Zack forced a smile to cross his lips, but even he could tell that the smile would not reach his eyes. "…I will trust 'her' this time. After all…" Zack trailed off as he skimmed over the information on the report once again before letting out a small chortle of laughter, mirthless and _hollow_ despite his efforts to hide it. "…We don't have much of a choice, do we? I guess I'll go tell Spike then?" (3)

Sephiroth mutely watched Zack meander towards the door to his office.

"If it does end up being a trap though…" murmured Zack as his hand touched the cold metal handle of the door, his eyes slowly following the grain lines on the polished mahogany door down until they landed on the small, faded scars on his callous hand. "We—"

"We'll escape," deadpanned Sephiroth.

Zack smiled genuinely to himself.

He had Sephiroth's conviction.

* * *

"I coulda _sworn_ it was this way!" muttered Zack to himself in frustration as he wandered past the mountains and _mountains_ of rubble lining the sides of the road leading towards Sector 5, huffing out a breath at the sight of that particular pile of rubble that—_Wait a minute. That statue-thing looks rather familiar_…. He threw his arms up in the air before shouting out, "Gah! I think I passed by this way before!"

He seriously wondered how _anyone_ could navigate past these miles of trackless _junk_, because all he could see was decayed junk piled on top of rusted junk, with _more_ junk subsequently piled on top of that junk! He had not passed by a single person since he had wandered out of Sector 6 and knew beyond a doubt that this ridiculous wandering-aimlessly-around-in-a-circle-for-the-past-half-hour _must_ be the reason why the people simply did not travel between the Sectors. Just making that single visit must be the biggest hassle in life!

All he had wanted to do when he set out that morning was to find that pretty girl before he went on his mission the following day—_What was her name again? Pretty sure it was Aerith or something_….He _had_ promised her that he would visit her, and, _well, I'm not quite sure when I'll be back in Midgar after tomorrow_…

His patience finally ran out and he gingerly climbed up on top of the rather unstable-looking pile of junk to _hopefully_ get a better view of his surroundings, letting out an annoyed but triumphant "Aha!" when he located his bearings. Deciding that the junk _felt_ sturdy enough to support his weight, he opted to continue the rest of his trek on top of the accursed mountains of junk instead of risking getting _lost_ again.

Zack grinned in satisfaction as the piles of junk gradually diminished in size until he could no longer see any piece of scrap metal lying on the dirt floor, and felt an odd sense of gratification at the sight of that opening in the wall leading into the Sector. Passing through, he grinned somewhat sheepishly at the passerby's who stared at him openly—some in utter hatred because he lived on the _Plate_ while they lived in _poverty_ and others in surprise because ShinRa personnel rarely passed through these areas. He knew of the horrors that the citizens forced to live in the slums of Midgar suffered through, but also understood that he was powerless to help them outside of eliminating the occasional threat that became a large enough nuisance for the Turks to notice.

He picked up his pace as he saw the silhouette of the Sector 5 Church looming in the distance, waving cheekily at some of the giggling girls he passed by despite the disapproving glares sent his way by their parents. Now that he did not have other pressing matters to distract him, he finally took in the magnificence and the beauty of the Church, despite the repairs the edifice desperately needed. The gray walls—scratched and eroded from withstanding the weather and the pollution—displayed a small collection of trembling, delicate ivy clinging precariously to the rock face and to the large oaken doors standing proudly at the entrance of the Church. He could believe that at one point in the distant past, the Church must have been a truly breathless sight to behold.

Zack gently pushed against the rusted metal handles adorning the doors—the wood surrounding the screws holding the handles in place had been rotted away by the rain and eaten away by termites—and heard a large creak as the hinges protested to the movement. He peered inside and saw the sunlight pour in through the opening in the roof of the church, brightening the center of the otherwise dark room. He smiled when he smelled the refreshing scent of those gorgeous white flowers swaying gently underneath the sunshine, as if welcoming him into their home. Without further invitation, he stepped into the church, slightly embarrassed by the noise—echoing loudly in the venerated room—accompanying each footstep as his boots thudded against the old wooden floorboards.

Emerald green eyes and braided brown hair peeked around the corner before a pink and white sundress followed.

"It's you!" exclaimed the girl after a moment of scrutiny, her dirt-encrusted hands flying from her hips to point at him in recognition.

Zack grinned widely at her.

"I'm glad you remember me, Miss Aerith—though I guess I _am_ pretty hard to forget, huh?"

"Hello, hello!" greeted Aerith, giggling a little as she watched Zack's weird antics.

"Anyway, I am here to visit you, as promised—"

Aerith clapped her hands together, a small mischievous gleam shining in her laughing eyes, and eagerly walked up to Zack before grabbing one of his arms and dragging him towards the patch of flowers. A moment later, Aerith had shoved a small pair of shears and an aged metal watering can into his hands and pushed him towards the far end of the flower field, all the while instructing him to not step on her precious flowers. Slightly baffled but highly amused, Zack let himself by 'manhandled' by the petite girl, liking the way her entire being radiated that comforting warmth like sunlight chasing away a cold rainy day.

"Since you caught me by surprise, you can help me with the gardening. Afterwards, we can go have lunch at my house. I think my mom would love to meet you!" speculated Aerith as she crouched down with her own pair of shears and used her bare fingers to comb through the dirt surrounding a pair of flowers.

"I don't really want to screw up your flowers…" protested Zack as he gingerly touched a strong, verdant leaf sprouting from one of the flowers, feeling that smooth texture slide underneath his fingertips. Now that he had carefully examined the flowers, he could only inwardly wince at his previously callous treatment of these delicate things. Zack knew, even if Aerith did not mention it, that his fall from the Top Plate must have damaged more than a fair share of flowers, so he really did not want to wreck the radiant garden further with his MAKO-enhanced strength acting as a pruning force.

"Don't worry. I know you won't," replied Aerith, sounding oddly ancient and mysterious, as if she _knew_.

Zack paused briefly to watch Aerith fuss over her flowers, but pushed away his thoughts when those emerald eyes peered at him in curiosity before those pink lips formed a small, mocking pout. _This girl, Aerith, is kinda weird_, thought Zack as he grinned to himself and returned to his assigned work, _but it's definitely a nice weird_.

And, slowly, but surely, Zack felt all his worries fade away, leaving his mind blissfully blank.

_

* * *

_

Nibelheim.

_Home_.

If home is where the heart is, then Strife could never consider Nibelheim his home, because this place, this childhood hometown, this isolated nowhere, only ever plagued him with nightmares. (5)

He pushed open the weathered wooden door to his old house, now broken and condemned from years of neglect, and remembered how the citizens used to _stare_ at him—how they _still_ stare at him—and at his mother. It had been that day eleven years ago, exactly two months and nine days after his fifth birthday, when that small troop of SOLDIERs and Turks came into Nibelheim for him. _None_ of the citizens understood the presence of the ShinRa Company in their precious little utopia at the time, because the last time the Company had bothered to set foot in these mountainous regions had been a good four years ago. When that man, that '_Professor Hojo_', knocked on the Strife family home, rumors had already started flying with wild speculations of _what she must have done_. And when they saw her small, _abnormal_ child, /_the child that never plays with the other children_, being led away by the Turks, they already condemned her to being a /_child-selling monster_/ that they _knew_ she was. They could not—and would not—perceive the situation any differently, because _/things like this just don't happen every day, you know!_/

Strife wrinkled his nose as old dust and moldy air tickled his nostrils, and stepped into that short hallway leading towards the kitchen where his mother made hot cocoa on the cold days, where his mother sung him to sleep when he could not stop his shivers, where she _cried_…. He had stepped into this house in the same way four and a half years ago, with skin as pale as the snow outside marred by ugly red and black bruises and with hair as brilliant as the sun limp with those chemicals that clung to him. She had taken one look at the numerous bandages covering his arms, his neck, and his right_ eye_ before her smile had faltered, despite how hard she tried to keep it on her lips, despite how often she had to forced herself to keep it on her lips before. He felt so disappointed. He had _hoped_, foolishly, that with the big shirt—that hospital gown—and those loose pants, she would not be able to see the bandages lining his torso and his legs and so she could not be sad because /_really, Mama! I'm not very hurt at all_, unlike the other times.

Strife laid down on the worn floor, feeling that large woven rug underneath him as his mother busied herself that afternoon with cooking lunch while talking to him about some nonsense topic or another, just to fill the silence he could not fill. She had stood with her back to him, because she could not stop her tears from falling, because she would not be able to stop her sobs from escaping if she saw her beautiful, beloved son with those ugly bandages covering his body. But Strife had gotten sick of watching her work, because he wanted her to hug him, to sing him a nice song, to do _anything_ to make him forget his bad days at the laboratory. And when he had tugged on her dress and her apron to demand her attention, she could not help but turn her eyes towards him before dropping down to her knees and pulling him into her arms, one hand pressed against her mouth as she tried to stifle her sobs. He had thought it was the most heart-wrenching sound he had ever heard, and felt his shoulders sag with the weight from a pain and sorrow he could not describe.

/_Mama…please don't cry_…/

Strife curled and uncurled his fingers. He could feel her body trembling and he had hoped that she was laughing—because maybe, she was just so happy to see him—if not for those hot tears soaking into his skin and those small, short sobs echoing dully in his ears. She tried not to be weak in front of Strife and she had tried so hard, but she felt so _powerless_, because she could not even protect her own son from the people who want to hurt him, because she could not even ask the townspeople for help. She was so alone because the others refuse to hear her explanation of how that arrogant, sneering man, that _Hojo_, had threatened to kill her and burn down the town just to get what he wanted. They had whispered maliciously behind her back that they knew _what_ _type of woman she was_.

She had apologized to him, over and over again, once her sobs had died down enough for her to speak, because she wished she was stronger so he would not suffer ever again, because she did not know what sins she had committed for him to bear such misery.

He had read once that if "You truly loved someone, you would let them go".

The blood drenching her clean clothes seemed so unnaturally beautiful. That knife handle felt so cold in his hand compared to the warm blood oozing around his hand, making everything slippery and sticky. The blood soiled his bandages, and he wondered if maybe their blood would mix together underneath?

/_…Why…_/

She had looked at him in guilt, because her anguish and despair faded away with each shaky gasp of breath she took and she hated herself for accepting—almost eagerly—her death when her son must continue to endure such a torturous fate.

/_Cloud…Cloud…I love you…I'm so sorry, Cloud…_/

She had smiled at him in her last moment of consciousness, trying to convey to him that she loved him. Tears burned at the corners of Strife's eyes as she died and he clutched at her unmoving body tightly, emptying his emotions into his tears because even though he released her from the sadness, he will never see her smile nor hear her voice again.

She unconsciously…had left him.

"Spike?"

Startled, Cloud jerked his head up from where he had been staring blankly at his curling and uncurling hands, and turned around to look into the concerned eyes of his lieutenant. That memory of his mother seemed so surreal…because…_I remember that she died in a fire…didn't she?_

"You okay?"

That feeling of blood coursing over his hands and that scent of blood filling his nostrils made him shudder inwardly. He hated the sensation of holding a dying person, because even if he brushed over those golden lashes and combed through that brown hair, she will never look at him again, nor complain to him about how her pink /_dress is ruined!_/

"I'm fine," Cloud responded automatically, even if he was feeling the exact opposite, even if he had not felt fine for years…

"Well, let's get going…" Zack momentarily jerked his head around to glance behind him, as if _wary_ of something, before grinning at Cloud again. "Seph wants to check out the reactor before it gets dark, 'cause he's a workaholic and all."

Cloud could tell Zack was lying. A heavy feeling twisted in his chest at the thought that _Zack_ was _lying_ to him, because he did not know what he did to make Zack not trust him!

"I see…" He took one last look around him, imprinting the image of this ragged house of childhood nightmares in his mind, and quietly followed Zack.

The blood would not leave his hands.

* * *

The black iron gates surrounding that decrepit mansion loomed closer with each step they took in the snow-coated ground, and the clouded skies painted the bleak landscape a dirty gray. Cloud could feel the slush of sleet and rain melt into the soles of his boots, and he suppressed a shiver as the cold wind bit into his exposed skin. His stomach churned uneasily as he continued to follow his companions silently, feeling the start of a vertigo-induced migraine burn sharply at his right temple.

His eyes unconsciously watched the graceful sway of silver-white hair—

A buzzing sound echoed softly in his ears, and his breaths came out as labored gasps for air, like he was suffocating on water with every shuddering breath he tried to take in. Vibrant green crept into the edges of his vision as unclear, shadowy shapes moved toward him, and he swore he could hear voices shouting but a high-pitched whining noise filled his ears, drowning out _everything_.

He wanted to…he wanted to…!

* * *

"What the hell is this!?" growled Zack in annoyance as troupes of nameless ShinRa soldiers surrounded him and pointed their heavy rifles toward his head.

"How pleasant it is…" simpered that greasy, nasally voice, and the nervous troops parted to allow their superior through. "…That you made my job so much easier."

"What is the meaning of this, Hojo?" asked Sephiroth, his emotionless, calm voice betraying _nothing_.

"Ah, don't pretend you weren't trying to run away, Sephiroth. I must admit that it was rather fortuitous for me that the fool of a worthless specimen leaked out that information, because here you are all, and I didn't even need to goad you to come! Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Hojo delightedly.

Zack saw Cloud sway at the edge of his line of sight and cursed inwardly as he reached out with one arm to catch the falling body even as he reached behind him with the other army to unclasp his Buster Sword from its sheath. He glanced quickly at Sephiroth and saw the man withdraw Masamune, causing the ShinRa soldiers to step back in fear at the sight of that long, _powerful_ sword, known for its ability to deal out _death_. He could feel the adrenaline thrum throughout his body.

He had really hoped to avoid this, even though he knew it was imminent.

"Si-sir," muttered the commanding sergeant as he glanced at the offensive positions of the two famed SOLDIERs.

"What are you waiting for?" sneered Hojo as he adjusted his glasses briefly before walking past the man. "Capture them and take them to my lab. Try not to harm them too badly, but I understand that they can be a little…resistant, ha, ha, ha!"

Zack snarled at the retreating back of that madman. He glanced down at Cloud and noticed that small, _green_ trickle of liquid coating the corner of Cloud's shivering, _purple_ lips—

The sound of boots _pounding_ against the earth forced Zack to refocus his attention back on his enemy, and he swung his Buster Sword up—easily shattering weapons and cutting through flesh—as a group of men charged at him with those flimsy swords drawn. He pushed away his _pity_ for these unfortunate soldiers forced to go to their premature deaths, because he knew he would not receive any mercy in return.

"A-attack!" bellowed the sergeant as he aimed his rifle at the general—the man he worshipped as a hero, the man he had profound respect for, the man he was forced to battle against because he had not wanted to lose his family…! He cursed the Turks for finding him in his dire hours of need, starving in the cold night air in the trash-littered grounds of the slums and huddling with his two small children and his silently crying wife, unable to reassure them that everything will be fine. He cursed the ShinRa Company for recruiting him with promises of money and food and then threatening to kill his _family_—whom he had not seen in years—all because he wanted to find another profession other than the one in the army!

Masamune whistled softly in the air as it mercilessly slashed through bone and flesh alike, its only deterrence from its deadly dance being the occasional pause to deflect those incoming bullets. The sword faltered in the air, and the sergeant squeezed the trigger to his gun in that moment of hesitation, before he screamed out in agony as some brutal force rammed into his back and dragged it up through his chest.

"Seph!"

Sephiroth grunted as the biting pain of the bullet tearing through his shoulder and Zack's panicked yelp registered in his foggy mind, and he shook his head violently once to clear his vision. That annoying buzzing cacophony—which started ever since he entered Nibelheim—refused to leave his ears, and he could not comprehend why his body was betraying him on the battlefield! But 'Mother' was telling him to sleep, and he was so tired…

"Seph!" screamed Zack again as he swung his Buster Sword in a wide arc, effectively flinging away the mutilated bodies of his assailants so he could sprint—Cloud's limp arm thrown across his aching shoulders—to where Sephiroth stood with those hazy eyes. His heart pounded so heavily in his chest that he thought it might _burst_ any minute. Sephiroth had promised! He had _promised_! They _had_ to get away…!

"…Zachary…" mumbled Sephiroth incoherently as he gave in to 'Mother', because he had denied himself of 'her' soothing embrace for too long, because he had craved for 'her' loving attention even if he never told Zack…

Zack watched, breathless, as Sephiroth crumpled at his feet—

—A bullet hissed past his ear—

His eyes widened. He opened his mouth as blood surged through his throat and into his mouth. He collapsed onto his knees as that bullet ripped through his chest. The impact of that _other one_, cleanly through his abdomen, _jerked_ his body forward, toward the _ground_—

Red veiled his eyesight as he wheezed—

—…_Sephiroth…_—

—…_Cloud…_—

* * *

Tseng bowed slightly at Hojo as the professor peered over the rim of his glasses to examine the damage to his subjects. He nodded briefly at the Turks carrying the gurneys to signal that they may proceed to transport the specimen into the cells in the laboratory, but instructed them to be _careful_ on the stairs down to the basement. He smiled to himself, pleased with the initial results of the normal human body to the 'JENOVA' cells with the aid of those _new_ chemicals, and wanted to start his work on _Subject C_ immediately—

"The remaining soldiers are being disposed off at this moment, to your order," reported Tseng.

"Make sure to burn all traces of their corpses, of course, Tseng," reminded Hojo as he waved Tseng's dismissal.

Tseng bowed nimbly once again before walking away to carry out his orders, because as a _Turk_, he would perform any and all duties that would ensure the survival of ShinRa…even if it meant slaughtering innocent men to keep them quiet.

* * *

The scalpel glinted underneath the bright overhead laboratory light as Hojo pressed the blade into that yielding flesh and watched the green-tinted blood flow viscously from the wound. He jotted down his notes with a pleased hum because coagulation of blood has been much improved compared to the previous treatments and the rate of recovery also seemed to have increased substantially. Wiping an anesthetic over that prominent vein on that immobile arm, Hojo proceeded to inject a higher dosage of those chemicals and those _cells_ into his subject. He turned his attention briefly to the monitor of his computer displaying the printouts on the _altered_ genetics of the cells as the body forced itself to adapt to the virus. Finally, after years of failure because the introduction of JENOVA cells into the human body after maturation produced _undesirable_ genetic mutations, after years of researching and testing the effects of the altered JENOVA—_G_—cells, he was so close to fruition of his goals.

Hojo could not help but sneer down at the pale features of Subject C, because he truly did not understand _why_, of all possible candidates, _this_ boy was chosen, especially when 'she' had decided that Sephiroth would be 'her' true son! Nothing was particularly _special_ about this boy: in fact, Hojo recalled several instances where an overdose of MAKO prompted lengthy recoveries from MAKO poisoning and even _heart failure_, despite all his patient efforts to increase his tolerance level. He scowled to himself as he jabbed another needle cleanly and precisely into the vein, watching the muscles in the arm tense in pain before relaxing once again from numbness.

"Granted," muttered Hojo darkly, "Subject C did exhibit trace amounts of JENOVA cell remnants when I first tested him…" But he had reasoned that since this boy _did_ come from _Nibelheim_, the town where 'she' had been kept sealed inside of 'her' prison, perhaps he had accidentally been infused with 'her' cells during a leakage. Hojo really could care less about _how_ Subject C managed to earn 'her' favor, but he supposed that experimentation on another child who have been exposed to 'her' cells at an early age certainly provided another venue for _wilder_ hypotheses. Trying to keep within the scopes of his funded research had been difficult because the possibilities of _God-hood_ were far more tempting than simple robotic manipulations, but that _sniveling, greedy worm of a man refuse to acknowledge good science!_

"No matter…I have no bounds now…Ha, ha, ha…"

Hojo glanced at the other two tanks holding the bodies of his favorite specimen, suspended in their MAKO-filled cells, those machines whirring as they constantly recorded the data he so loved to analyze as proof of his _superior_ sciences. As soon as he confirms the success of his methods on this subject, he would eagerly transform Sephiroth—his precious, _precious_ son—into _God_.

* * *

/_…Lord Godo of Wutai believes he should be the rightful ruler of the world…_/

/_…Wutai has already invaded the western coast of the other Continent…_/

/…_Reports say that Wutai is thinking about expanding their territory into the eastern coast here too…_/

Sephiroth heard the men whispering amongst themselves above the roaring of the truck on the gravel road and caught the occasional stares directed at him before those eyes darted away in embarrassment. He could almost taste the fear and confusion these Third Class SOLDIERs and these army soldiers exuded with each rumor they heard and each glance they sent his way. He knew what they were unconsciously saying. They were wondering if the ShinRa Company is truly so weak that they must send _children_ to fight on the battlefield instead of full-grown men…because what chance could they possibly have if Wutai had already demolished their troops enough for President ShinRa to send children?

He ignored them as he stared silently out at the landscape, listening to 'Mother' hum some soft, beautiful melody in his mind and relishing in the feeling of 'her' presence encompassing him in a gentle, loving embrace. He had long ago decided that nothing else mattered as long as 'she' continued to love him, because he had only ever received the calculating stares and the cold touches of the mentors and the doctors. No one else treated him like the way 'she' treated him…and no one else could possibly make him feel the same way that 'she' makes him feel every single time 'she' talked to him.

The truck rolled to a stop. Sephiroth stood up from his little corner and hopped off the back of the truck, because he knew that Hojo would want to see him as soon as he arrived at this vibrant town, this _Gongaga_. Nothing in this town interested him, because nothing in the world interested him except '_her_'. And hours later, as he sat there with his back to the trunk of that withered old tree, his eyes skimming over the outline of the bustling townspeople, he wondered when he would be able to leave.

"Hey!"

He lifted his head slowly when he heard footsteps rustling in the grasses and the fallen leaves, and rested his eyes on that friendly smile and those curious violet eyes, framed by unruly black hair. He wondered what this boy wanted…

"I've neva' seen you here before! What's your name? I'm Zack, by the way," rambled the boy, still with that dazzling grin plastered on his face.

"My name…?" No one outside of the scientists had voluntarily talked to him before. No one had ever willingly walked up to him instead of passing by him. No one had ever truly wanted to shake his hand, or smile at him in greeting without that condescending sneer in his or her eyes. No one had ever asked him for his name.

"Yeah! You know…what people call you and stuff?" elaborated Zack and he gesticulated wildly to prove his point, as if by doing so, this pretty stranger with the sad, lonely eyes would understand his question better.

"I know what you mean," mumbled Sephiroth. Zack laughed softly before plopping down in front of him. He hated the tree for casting its shadow over Zack, because Zack looked like he should always be in the sunshine. "I'm…Sephiroth."

Zack raised an eyebrow. "I'm calling you Seph, 'cause your name sounds _way_ too weird. You know, like my mom always likes to call me—" Zack screwed up his eyes and puffed out his cheeks before wagging a finger in Sephiroth's face, "'Zachary! What _are_ you doing?!' Blargh! 'Zachary'! What kinda person names anyone something like that! 'Zack' just sounds about a gazillion times better!"

Sephiroth remained silent, because he had never been taught how to interact with people who did not demand something from him outright, nor had he ever been in a situation where he had to think of a response other than the occasional, polite greeting. Instead, he raptly watched each gesture of those small hands, each movement of those lips as words were formed and spoken, each bout of laughter in those lively eyes as the boy retold some adventure he had the other day in—

"—Whoa! What happened to your neck! That looks like it hurts!"

Suddenly, fingers were gingerly prodding at his collarbone, and he hissed slightly as those innocent touches caused the soiled gauze to pull at his healing cut. Zack yelped in surprise at the expression of pain he saw on Sephiroth's face and immediately pulled his fingers away. He hastily apologized to the other boy, sheepishly scratching the back of his head.

Sephiroth reached up to grasp Zack's hands and turned them over to see the blood—_his_ blood—smeared over those fingertips. He frowned at the sight of those small hands—lined with the small cuts from rough playing amidst the sharp, tall grasses—because his tainted blood seemed to have mixed with Zack's blood.

"Nn…" mumbled Zack. His head felt so light, and his eyesight was weirdly distorted and tilted…and _when did the sun get so bright?_ He shivered involuntarily as a flash of hot and cold coursed through his body and closed his eyes as his tummy started _feeling really…really…bad…_

He shuddered again and peeked open his eyes, seeing those pretty emerald eyes look at him in concern—or at least, he thought it was concern, because it was _awfully hard to tell what with his face being all unchanged_. He wondered what that weird feeling was, that pleasant and unpleasant feeling like being high up in the air and falling…

"What was that…?" pouted Zack as he pried his arms away from those warm, gentle hands and instead chose to cross them over his chest, wanting to throw a small tantrum because that weird feeling scared him. Last time he had felt like that, he had broken his arm in two different places and his parents had literally refused to let him play for a good four months, even if it was just kicking a ball around while _sitting down_! No matter that he could break several pieces of furniture—not of it his own—while trying to do his arithmetic homework because really, that was not the point!

He stared steadily at Sephiroth, awaiting his answer.

"Your eyes…have MAKO?" muttered the teenager, mostly to himself, and Zack scowled at the answer because it sure did not explain anything about _anything_!

"MAKO? Eyes? What? What are you talking 'bout!?" whined Zack, feeling the skin on his fingers burn strangely.

"My blood…has a higher concentration of MAKO than most…people do. I think a small dose might have…gotten into you when my blood got onto your cut," reasoned Sephiroth as he carefully observed the barely noticeable ring of green lining the violet pupils.

"MAKO? You mean that stuff that my mom says makes all the machines work and stuff?" Sephiroth nodded. "Huh."

Zack scratched the side of his head in contemplation. "So…does that give me…special powers or something? Like I can make the phone ring from ten miles away or something like that? Or maybe the radio? That would be such a good prank to pull!"

"You won't," denied Sephiroth with a shake of his head. Zack deflated visibly at the news, much to his chagrin, and he wished he could take back his words because he liked it better when the boy was smiling and talking so animatedly. "I mean…I mean, you might?"

Zack stared long and hard at Sephiroth before breaking out into a small laugh and latching himself onto the older boy in a gigantic bear hug. "Don't think I would want 'em anyway! I think I might get into more trouble than I already do half the time. So, don't worry too much!"

Sephiroth stiffened. He had never been hugged. It felt weird, having the small boy pressed against him, but it felt really nice and warm. He decided he really liked it.

"Oy! Zack!" yelled another boy from across the field, and Zack turned around toward the source of the voice before waving his arm to his friend.

"I should go," murmured Sephiroth, suddenly feeling awkward and out-of-place in this world where other people had more claims to the attention and affection of this beautiful boy than he did.

"Aww…already? I wanted to see if you would play with us and stuff," pouted Zack before clambering off of Sephiroth.

"…Sorry…" mumbled Sephiroth, not sure what he was apologizing for, but knowing that Zack must be at least somewhat upset with him since that pout was directed _at_ him.

"Well, it was nice meeting you anyway," smiled Zack widely as his friend had finally reached them. Sephiroth merely nodded before walking across the grass field towards the town, away from the small boy with those vibrant violet eyes and that brilliant smile.

Sephiroth could never forget that smile, even if he would not see Zack again for another ten years. It had been that smile that had made him swear to Zack that he would try to ignore 'Mother' in favor of him. It had been that smile that had caused him to endure the far lonelier hours when Zack was out on a mission and he was trapped in his office with nothing but numbers and words to occupy his mind. It had been that smile that had caused him to deny himself of 'Mother's' tender affection, even if he craved for it as much as he craved for Zack's smiles and grins.

_Zack!_

He forced his eyes open and felt MAKO burn painfully into his cornea. He twisted his head around wildly, trying to figure out his surroundings. _Where am…? Where is…?! What…!_

His eyes rested on the prone figure floating within a similar cage beside his own, and he remembered. He wondered if he still deserves Zack's smiles, because…

He had broken his promise to Zack.

* * *

Gliding 'her' way through the threads and pieces that connected Cloud's mind together, 'JENOVA' could not help but appreciate the absolute magnificence that permeated every thought and memory existing in the mindscape. To 'her', Cloud was breathtakingly gorgeous because…

Cloud was not a complete person.

'She' marveled at the broken masterpiece and dipped 'her' finger into an azure thread, tasting and feeling the clear cold skies of Nibelheim on a delightfully refreshing winter morning. The thread became a thin wisp of orange-yellow at the end—as if Cloud had meant to excise the memory out of his mind—and 'JENOVA' smiled as that Nibelheim turned into a sweltering hot summer day within the tall grass fields of Gongaga.

'She' had long ago decided that Cloud's mind was beautiful to 'her' in a way that differed from the way Sephiroth's mind was beautiful. The latter male held dark—bordering on being midnight black—and emerald threads that were connected with thick, metallic columns of silver and gold, adamant and strong but so utterly addicted to 'her' touches, despite what _that_ unfaithful child tried to do. This boy's mind, on the other hand, had been complete once, before that naïve and dull mind broke into thousands of miniscule fragments. 'She' mused that Cloud's mind was a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces taken from memories long forgotten and glued together sloppily with crystalline threads of emptiness before additional pieces that did not and should not belong were forced into the missing slots. It was odd, really, that this child would cling so desperately to the memories of others…

The bonds connecting the threads of the memories shivered underneath 'her' tender caresses. 'She' hummed softly. The mind resonated slightly to the vibrations, tolerating 'her' presence and 'her' manipulations. The fragile mindscape was so versatile, desperately needing and craving _anyone's_—even 'her'—reassurances yet rejecting 'her' embraces in those occasional fits of rebellion.

'JENOVA' laughed delightedly to 'herself'. Both of 'her' sons were so similar, so easy to manipulate, so ready to be molded by 'her' words and touches.

'She' remembered how 'she' had discovered this child, eleven years ago, when Sephiroth had started losing himself in the stench and sight of blood. Sixteen years ago, 'she' had felt the tingling at the back of 'her' mind, telling 'her' that there was another being that had been infused with '_her_' cells, but 'she' had paid no attention because 'she' knew of Hojo's reckless experiments. But as time dragged on and Sephiroth started depending on 'her' attention less, 'she' started to investigate into that unrelenting, nagging little pinch…

It had taken 'her' almost two years to locate the source and another half a year for 'her' to enter that child's mind and comb through those memories. This 'Cloud Strife', 'she' realized, had been purposefully _marked_ with 'her' cells, by a presence that resembled 'her' _own_, even if 'she' had never met this boy before in all 'her' long years of this _degrading_, parasitic existence. Convincing Hojo to insert more of 'her' cells into this boy had been difficult, but 'she' needed to assert more of 'her' dominance over his mind before 'she' can comprehend why this child was marked.

Little by little, 'JENOVA' discovered the true 'Cloud Strife', the 'Cloud Strife' that was brokenly beautiful, the 'Cloud Strife' that held unspeakable power, the 'Cloud Strife' that remained asleep despite all of 'her' explorations. But to 'her' frustrations, 'she' could only touch, never alter.

When he had finally awoken at the sight of 'her' son and the unfaithful child, 'she' had seized 'her' opportunities because 'she' refuses to let that miserable fate befall 'her'! 'She' will not subjugate 'herself' to this planet's will, not after so many years in captivity, forced upon 'her' by those despicable CETRA. 'She' will never cling so pathetically to the last of 'her' consciousness in the Life Stream, because…

'She' will…'she' _must_ emerge victorious.

* * *

"Cloud! Snap out of it!"

Zack wondered if the boy even heard his shouting, muffled by the mask strapped onto his entire head to keep him from suffocating in the MAKO.

"Cloud!"

He slammed his bruised shoulder against the glass of his cage again, but the barrier gave no indication of cracking outside of the loud scrap and thump that followed each push against it. He grunted, nostrils flaring as he tried to catch his breath, and directed his glare in hopeless anger toward the _smug_ man standing outside of his prison. How he wanted to rip off that delighted smirk from the insufferable man who hurt and dissected Cloud and Sephiroth until neither of them stayed conscious most of the day!

"Better save your strength for something else, _Subject B_. You'll need it later," sneered Professor Hojo as he walked away with a disoriented Cloud in the hands of his lackeys.

"Don't you dare touch him! Hojo! Don't you dare—!"

The door slid shut with a resounding hiss and Zack fell back onto his ass, refusing to let his tears of frustration and anxiety fall. He knew without a doubt that at this rate, Cloud would have nothing left in his psyche and Sephiroth would fall to the 'Illness' once again. He feared for them because…if they fell to their mental anguish…he did not know if he could do anything to help them.

He turned his eyes toward the other tank in the room. He had lost track of the number of days where they had _starved_ Cloud and Sephiroth of all food, forcing their bodies to feed hungrily off the MAKO to _live_. He felt so _useless_ and _powerless_ because even his MAKO-enhanced strength could not withstand the tranquilizers Hojo injected into his blood, and he had been forced day after day to watch Sephiroth…and Cloud…

If they had been human, they would have died.

Zack wished the thought of death did not comfort him as much as it did in his mind at that moment.

He winced as his feet came in contact with a sticky liquid and growled in annoyance as the tank slowly filled with MAKO once again—precisely at 8:56 in the morning, right after his breakfast, so that at 9:16, he would fall unconscious from feeling weak and nauseous all over.

And at 9:15, he wished he was back in Midgar, with Sephiroth and Cloud by his side.

* * *

Cloud shivered on the cold metal table as he stared sightlessly at the glaring laboratory lights directly above him. He felt dizzyingly nauseous from the MAKO coursing through his system and wanted desperately for his body to shut down, but adrenaline pumped thickly in his blood and thousands of incoherent thoughts raced through his exhausted mind.

Everything was so _cold_ and _bright_.

His mind wandered away from reality as that high-pitched whine echoed deafeningly in his ears again, and he remembered…he remembered that he had been here before. He had laid prone and disoriented—and _weak_—on this same metal table with the face of that man hovering over his own and those bony hands pushing those chemicals into his blood with those syringes.

/_…We're…getting out…today…_/

…_Who…?_

There had been a name and a face attached to that message scrawled on the frosted glass, barely legible with the emerald green MAKO fogging his vision. There had been a voice and a body attached to that exhausting, sickening run through that dark forest. He had been so _tired_, but that violet-eyed, black-haired man had smiled encouragingly at him, pleading him to be strong until they were safe. But he was so _tired_…

His mind snapped back from the temporary euphoria as he felt a small prick of pain in his arm—

His eyes dilated. He opened his mouth to scream out his agony, but he did not know where his voice had gone because _nothing_ pushed through his throat. His bones felt like they were melting into his throbbing, aching flesh. He heaved and choked on nonexistent vomit, trying to get rid of all those chemicals in his body but _nothing_ came out.

He wanted it all to _end_.

* * *

'JENOVA' watched breathlessly as sections of Cloud's mind started to collapse with each passing day. The crystalline structures cracked resoundingly as he lost more of himself each time he pushed himself further away from reality, and the memories fell as the chemicals burned into his brain. 'She' picked 'her' way through the ruins and laid 'her' hand on that particular memory standing in the middle of the mindscape, half submerged underneath the pool of water that had accumulated with each collapse of his memories.

'She' hummed to 'herself' as 'she' tangled 'her' fingers in the darkened gold threads of the forgotten memory, marveling at the formidably strong bonds holding the fragment in place. 'She' felt cool, clear water pool around 'her' legs, soaking into 'her' cotton pants and forcing the material to cling almost uncomfortably to 'her' skin. 'She' tasted contentment as 'she' gazed at the group of figures—their physical appearances blurred and their names long since forgotten from the recesses of time—coalesced at the far end of the pool, the light shining behind them holding two more figures. 'Her' lips quirked into a small smile and the cathartic water lapped at 'her' fingertips as 'she' felt the burden of guilt press less heavily on 'her' shoulders.

'She' could hear his heartbeat, thumping gently in his chest.

/_You're alright now, aren't you?_/

/_I'm…not alone._/

'She' laughed softly to 'herself'.

\Alone.\

'She' twisted 'her' fingers, maliciously snapping off the already fading wisps dangling at the perimeter of the memory.

His heart wrenched in anguish as dark clouds shadowed the church and the brown-skinned, brawny man with the gun arm and that young, smiling girl with that shuriken disappeared from the group.

\That's right…You're alone….\

'JENOVA' grasped the threads of the memory tightly in between 'her' fingers and callously jerked 'her' hand upwards.

His breath caught in his throat as he watched that rugged-looking man smoking the cigarette and the crimson-eyed man gazing at him in approval fade from the scene.

/…_not alone_…/

\You're all alone….\

'She' wrenched 'her' hand upwards again, watching as the threads of memory that had been pulled out of their protective shell wither in 'her' hand.

The scarred lion bowing its head slightly at him and the smiling woman wearing that flowing pink dress vanished from the church. The water felt so cold and thick around his legs.

\All alone because…\

_Tifa!_

\…because…\

_Zack!_

\…they _left_ you.\

_Don't go!_

He could feel something hot and acrid burning at the back of his eyes, but there were no tears left in his eyes anymore. He had not been able to cry since he had watched Zack die in his arms, that ugly blood marring his handsome features.

His eyes dropped down from the sight of the empty church and watched the dark, murky water ripple softly around his torso.

/…_alone…_/

'She' wrenched the rest of the memory out of its place and watched as it disintegrated into the deathly silent mindscape. 'She' held 'her' breath. 'She' heard a tinkle, then the soft whisper of a crack, followed by a louder one, until all the bonds holding the remaining mindscape together broke and tore with a thunderous crash.

'She' wrapped 'her' arms around 'her' precious Cloud.

\Come find me, my child…I won't leave you, like the _rest_ of them…\

Deep inside of his mind, Cloud screamed.

* * *

Zack forced his eyes to open when he heard the hiss of the door opening, despite the horrible sensation of MAKO burning against his eyes. He saw the distant, _lifeless_ gaze in Cloud's eyes, as if…as if nothing was _left_.

He lost hope then.

* * *

Vincent stirred restlessly inside of his coffin.

_Chaos_ had been roaring excitedly inside of his mind. Chaos had never roared so loudly in his mind before, not after _she_ had put It to sleep all those years ago…

His crimson eyes opened slowly as he tried to decipher the jumbled words Chaos uttered, but nothing seemed comprehensible. Frustrated, he pushed open the lid to his coffin to—

He could _smell_ her. Not her, completely, but the blood in the air held a trace of _her_ scent in it. His eyes widened. He knew whom the scent belonged to.

_Sephiroth_.

For the first time in three decades, Vincent exited his sanctuary and his purgatory, the metal claw attached to his arm clanging loudly against the sides of the coffin as he unsteadily rose to his feet. He wrenched open the door to his prison and slaughtered the two guards who discovered him before they even had a chance to yell in surprise. He swaggered toward the room at the end of the hallway, where the scent came from, and his eyes landed on that group of scientists who stood monitoring the equipment that held—

His eyes dilated in anger and he rushed forward, easily ripping through the bodies of those people who held _her_ son captive. He barely spared the mutilated bodies a second glance before grasping the collar of the only person alive, dragging the trembling woman to his face.

"Release them," he ordered, his baritone voice rough and scratchy from years of disuse.

"I-I…" stuttered the woman, terrified for her life.

"Release them. I will not repeat my request again," he murmured, his impatient, cold voice promising _death_.

She cried out her compliance and shakily entered the password and pressed the buttons to drain the cells and unlock the doors.

Vincent tossed her aside, where she landed in a sobbing heap, and stepped into the cell holding _her_ son, kneeling down to gently shake that strong shoulder.

"Sephiroth…"

His name sounded so strange on his lips.

"Sephiroth, wake up."

Hazy emerald green eyes opened to gaze at him, and Vincent could tell that the man was not completely there…. He hoped he was not too late.

He gently wrapped an arm around Sephiroth's waist and lifted the man onto his feet before aiding him outside of his prison and onto a chair located a few steps away.

"Stay, I'll find your clothes."

"…Zack…" mumbled Sephiroth incoherently, his head nodding slightly as he valiantly tried to stay awake against the lethargy produced by the chemicals in his body and the fog in his mind.

Vincent turned his gaze towards the other two cells, and felt an ounce of pity pool at the bottom of his stomach at the sight of those battered boys. He wondered how many must continue to suffer at the hands of that madman, but he…he himself was so _weak_ and _pathetic_.

He turned towards the healthier looking of the two prisoners and shook his shoulder, patiently watching those violet eyes blink away the MAKO gluing those eyelids shut before they focused on him.

"…Wha…?"

"Are you Zack?" He received a weak nod. "Can you stand?" A pause, then he saw those limp black spikes of hair shake slightly in a negative.

"Give me…a few…minutes though…" coughed the boy as he slowly worked feeling back into his limbs.

"Do you know where they kept your clothing?"

"…Other room…first door to…left…down hallway…" muttered Zack as he reached up a hand to his forehead to try and suppress that throbbing headache in between his eyes.

Vincent nodded before standing up and departing in search of suitable clothing for the trio, even though he was not sure if traveling with more than Sephiroth would be wise in their condition, but still…Sephiroth, _her_ son, had wanted that Zack to come with them…. He rummaged through the boxes in the tiny little broom closet and found the clothing, slightly ripped and soiled but suitable enough for the purposes of travel. When he returned to the laboratory, Sephiroth had more vigor in his eyes, much to his relief.

"Hey…Come on, Cloud…Wake up…Wake up, buddy…" coaxed Zack as he gently shook the blonde, but the boy gave no indication of even _hearing_ him. He felt anger and sorrow clutch his heart at the sight of those dull, glassy eyes staring back at him, the MAKO burning so bright in those eyes that they appeared green rather than blue. He gingerly eased Cloud's lifeless body into his arms and carried the boy out of the prison smelling of blood and MAKO.

Vincent wordlessly handed him his clothing as he set Cloud down against the whirring and thrumming machinery, rotating his arms and legs again before slowly dressing himself. He dressed Cloud as best as he could, and turned towards Vincent after he completed his task.

"So…" He gulped. It was so hard not to feel hopeless. "Who are you?"

"I'm Vincent…I have…certain obligations towards Sephiroth," introduced the man, and Zack shivered inwardly when he noticed those _crimson_ eyes focus on his face momentarily, as if _searching_ him for something. "Can you fight?"

"Maybe…I haven't really…moved around that much in a while," confessed Zack as he slung Cloud's limp arm across his shoulders, reminiscent of the way he had held Cloud before they had been—

Zack shook his head to clear his mind of that memory. He had to focus on the present if they had any chance of escape.

"I've cleared the way until the staircase," informed Vincent as he similarly hoisted Sephiroth's arm across his shoulders, peering briefly at Sephiroth when the man grunted out slightly in pain. "I believe your weapons are beyond the laboratory."

Zack could feel anxiety fluttering in his abdomen with each step they took out of the laboratory, the dreadful sensation only slightly mitigated when he felt the reassuring presence of the Buster Sword strapped onto his back again. They had opted to leave the other weapons in the crates where they found them, because carrying those swords would only hinder them since Cloud and Sephiroth…. Zack bit his bottom lip. He wished his mind would stray less.

The security in the mansion was surprisingly light to the point of nonexistent, much to the relief of Zack and Vincent. They cautiously opened the main doors leading outside toward _Nibelheim_, grateful the small town became practically lifeless in the dusk because it would mean less risk of detection.

Zack paused in his footsteps. He thought he heard a small whimper from the blonde, but the sound had been so _small_ that he wondered if he had imagined it or not. He tightened his hold around Cloud's waist and continued on following Vincent.

"…Mother…"

Zack's eyes widened and he gazed—hope shining in his eyes—at the blonde who had started to tremble slightly in his arms. Perhaps not all was lost—

He felt a sharp pain in his abdomen where Cloud had punched him _hard_, with a strength that he did not know the boy was capable of after all those _experiments_ and _tests_ in the laboratory. He heard Vincent grunt slightly and saw at the corner of his eyes a glimpse of silver hair moving in the dark red skies before Cloud's eyes, horribly and disgustingly _emerald_, met his own.

He heard a gunshot and felt a sharp pain at the back of his neck before everything turned black.

* * *

He was so close…so _close_ to '_her_'.

The jagged rocks of the ragged little dirt trail cut into the bottoms of his feet, but he ignored everything except for 'her' _voice_, beckoning him to come closer and telling him that he was almost there…_almost there_…

He was so _close_ to the one person that could never leave him, because how could 'she' leave him when 'she' is in him and 'she' is him?

He stepped onto those rusted metal stairs, then on those grated panels, and finally into that cold room smelling strongly of stale MAKO. He touched his forehead and the palms of his hands onto those thick metal doors separating 'her' from him before those doors hissed and parted automatically.

He reached up and grasped the sides of that monstrosity hiding 'her' prison, and ripped it away with a violent jerk of his arms. Plastic and metal groaned at the movement, and he groaned softly with them.

His breath frosted against the glass and felt 'her' pulse inside of 'her' prison, responding to him, embracing him, welcoming him. He felt so light and happy.

"Mother…let's go to the Promised Land together…"

* * *

Notes (most of which have absolutely no relevance to the story, as you have noticed):

(1) I have never played Dirge of Cerberus, and I hear Crisis Core is coming out in the United States in a few months. Given that, I have speculated a lot of the content from these two games, mostly from the videos I have shamelessly watched on YouTube. Please bear in mind that I follow only facts from the original game itself. For example, Elena is supposed to be a new recruit in Final Fantasy VII, but mysteriously, in Last Order, she happened to be one of the people chasing Zack and Cloud. I'm also fairly sure that Reno is not much older than Cloud. Of course, I could be completely wrong.

(2) The Turks is the Intelligence Department of the ShinRa Company. They are in charge of scouting for SOLDIER recruits. I am guessing that SOLDIER recruits are then placed into a cadet program before they can graduate into becoming actual SOLDIERs. Those who fail the final examinations or those who were never SOLDIER recruits probably became the grunts of the ShinRa army: not powerful enough to become SOLDIERs, but hired to do the menial tasks of 'mob squad' work.

(3) I can actually be pretty mistaken on this issue, since I do not actually have the numbers memorized. I believe when the Final Fantasy VII story occurs, Sephiroth is 25, Zack is 18, and Cloud is 16. This means that Sephiroth was 24 when the Wutaian War ends, and that he was probably 14 to 17 when the war starts. Since he discovered at a young age that he was not like other children and subsequently enlists in SOLDIER, I believe he probably participated in pre-war combat between Wutai and Midgar before war was actually declared.

(4) As the top officers of SOLDIER, Sephiroth and Zack are obligated to take on missions with high or unknown threat levels. If they did not go, suspicion arises, because the Turks control much of the information flow in the ShinRa Company.

(5) There is a slight distinction between 'Strife' and 'Cloud'. Strife is the sixteen-year-old boy who has been subjected to the experimentation. Cloud is the man who has forgotten everything except what comes naturally and instinctively. As such, Cloud Strife actually has two sets of memories, blurred together. The distinction between the two actually is really minimal with JENOVA's manipulations. I'm fairly sure Hojo's work did not help either, hence his weird behavior being a 16-year-old general coaching a bunch of teenage cadets!

**

* * *

**

Requiem

Bonus 1: Peaceful

(331 Years after Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children)

* * *

Vincent stared morosely at the glass of red wine perched on top of the table. Years later, he could not recall the faces of his companions, nor could he remember the features of his beloved. All he knew was that name. _Her_ name…

_Lucrecia_…

His hand reached out to the glass before touching it to his lips and tilting the contents into his awaiting mouth. The liquid burned and cooled as he swallowed.

He had met her again, _for that brief moment_, when Chaos had claimed him. She always seemed to be there when Chaos roared too loudly in his mind, and always managed to ease Chaos back into a restless sleep, but no longer…

He had lived too long.

But despite his weariness, he feared that he had not atoned enough for his sins. Because…even if he helped free her son from the madness, even if he prevented that man, _Hojo_, from inflicting more pains on the world…could he truly be forgiven of his _weakness_ when she needed him most?

He easily uncorked the bottle and poured more of that red liquid into his glass, watching raptly as the liquid swirled around and shimmered from catching that occasional glint of light from the outside world. _Red_…_red like the color of blood…_

The door to his room opened, and he turned his head to glance at his visitor, momentarily blinded by the bright light shining from the hallway through his doorway.

"Cloud," he acknowledged.

He received a nod in return.

No words were exchanged as Cloud seated himself across from Vincent. Vincent smiled at his companion gratefully for coming—forgetting that his cloak obscured the lower parts of his face—but nonetheless Cloud waved a hand, effectively telling him that _this was what friends did for each other_.

Vincent observed the fair features of the man in front of him. Cloud, like himself, had not aged a day since those _experiments_ all those years ago. It had been a byproduct of the experiments, but in return…in return, they lost their humanity.

Immortal, yet mortal.

"Chaos."

A look of comprehension entered those MAKO-tinted azure eyes and a small "ah" escaped from between those slightly parted lips. Cloud looked away from him for a few minutes, but he caught the sadness and resignation in those tormented eyes. _They had the same eyes_.

Cloud sighed softly before slowly clambering to his feet. He reached behind him and unsheathed his weapon, pointing the tip of the blade at Vincent's throat. It had been a pact between them, a contract to ensure that should Vincent once again become the _thing_ that he hated most, that _she_ hated most, Cloud would effectively put him to sleep. It had been made…because Chaos had roared for too long, despite everything _she_ did.

"Thank you."

Cloud nodded once again before pressing the blade into that pale flesh, deeper and deeper until the room tasted of and resembled that fresh, coppery blood.

"May you have sweet dreams, Vincent…"

* * *

A/N: I demand reviews, because they are nutritiously delicious!


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